There is something about being carefree and innocent. When every year feels like a lifetime. When every birthday is about the excitement of finally being four. Five. Six. Seven. When the biggest drama is the cut on your knee, or the fight over a skipping rope. When you can't wait to grow up. Go to "big school". Become a teenager. When nothing is more important than the moment . . . and we'll call them the good old days.
When you were four, it was all about learning to read, and write, and count. School at five was nothing more than games, and adding numbers to make 10. Writing quick sentences, and singing wind-the-bobbin-up with your friends. Pat-a-cake, row the boat, teddy bears picnic. When school was not about the lessons and the learning, but about meeting people and having fun. Communicating, making friends. Finally there was no parents telling you off constantly. You cant do that, don't do this. It was someone new. At the age of four, thrown into an ocean of strangers. On your own, for the very first time . . . when the years have rolled away we shall dream of the times we had, the songs we used to sing.
When summers were about making daisy chains on the school field. Playing tag and throwing cut grass at each other. When you actually didn't want a summer holiday, because you had more chance of seeing your friends at school. When seeing your friends was about inviting them round to play with dolls or going to their house to play on the swing they have in the garden. The one you always wished you had. When at Christmas you always wished for snow. You had never seen proper snow, but you know what it was. You wanted to make snowmen, like you had seen on the television. You didn't care what Christmas was about. To you, it was about the presents, the new Polly Pocket set. And seeing your family, the cousins and the grandparents that maybe you haven't seen in a couple of months . . . and while we're together let us laugh at the weather and, whatever the gods may bring.
But as the years go by, you grow out of Barbie, and the daisy chains. And you start to grow up. Boys suddenly aren't a different species any more. They aren't so disgusting. Your mummy doesn't dress you any more. You buy your own clothes. And you get embarrassed when daddy calls you his special little girl. You discover make up, and magazines. You finally move to "big school" and realise that it isn't all that it was cracked up to be. Its full of bitching, and this new thing they call hard work. You're growing up. Fast . . . when all our youth is but memory.
And now? Everyone has started to go their separate ways. Those friends you used to play Barbies with, they don't even look at you now when you pass in the corridor. Moving on. Moving on up. There is the pressure of exams. The pressure to have sex. The pressure to be someone you're not. And to be a girl, in the crazy teenage world, you realise that it's hard to be yourself in "big school". You have to stay true to yourself. Its not magical. Its hard work. Its different. Everything changes . . . and the years bring the parting of the ways.
But what can I say!? I'm living in it, and there is nothing I can do. It's all part of growing up, and there is no way out of it. And I'm telling the truth when I say that I'm loving it. I'm loving every single minute.
These are the times we shall dream about, and we'll call them the good old days.
I don't blog, I write.
Just, Me.
When you were four, it was all about learning to read, and write, and count. School at five was nothing more than games, and adding numbers to make 10. Writing quick sentences, and singing wind-the-bobbin-up with your friends. Pat-a-cake, row the boat, teddy bears picnic. When school was not about the lessons and the learning, but about meeting people and having fun. Communicating, making friends. Finally there was no parents telling you off constantly. You cant do that, don't do this. It was someone new. At the age of four, thrown into an ocean of strangers. On your own, for the very first time . . . when the years have rolled away we shall dream of the times we had, the songs we used to sing.
When summers were about making daisy chains on the school field. Playing tag and throwing cut grass at each other. When you actually didn't want a summer holiday, because you had more chance of seeing your friends at school. When seeing your friends was about inviting them round to play with dolls or going to their house to play on the swing they have in the garden. The one you always wished you had. When at Christmas you always wished for snow. You had never seen proper snow, but you know what it was. You wanted to make snowmen, like you had seen on the television. You didn't care what Christmas was about. To you, it was about the presents, the new Polly Pocket set. And seeing your family, the cousins and the grandparents that maybe you haven't seen in a couple of months . . . and while we're together let us laugh at the weather and, whatever the gods may bring.
But as the years go by, you grow out of Barbie, and the daisy chains. And you start to grow up. Boys suddenly aren't a different species any more. They aren't so disgusting. Your mummy doesn't dress you any more. You buy your own clothes. And you get embarrassed when daddy calls you his special little girl. You discover make up, and magazines. You finally move to "big school" and realise that it isn't all that it was cracked up to be. Its full of bitching, and this new thing they call hard work. You're growing up. Fast . . . when all our youth is but memory.
And now? Everyone has started to go their separate ways. Those friends you used to play Barbies with, they don't even look at you now when you pass in the corridor. Moving on. Moving on up. There is the pressure of exams. The pressure to have sex. The pressure to be someone you're not. And to be a girl, in the crazy teenage world, you realise that it's hard to be yourself in "big school". You have to stay true to yourself. Its not magical. Its hard work. Its different. Everything changes . . . and the years bring the parting of the ways.
But what can I say!? I'm living in it, and there is nothing I can do. It's all part of growing up, and there is no way out of it. And I'm telling the truth when I say that I'm loving it. I'm loving every single minute.
These are the times we shall dream about, and we'll call them the good old days.
I don't blog, I write.
Just, Me.
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