Friday Five: Five MisAdventures of My Childhood

Hey,

I've decided to try to do a weekly post called the Friday Five. I know bloggers do them often, where they make occasional lists about things that are on their mind or randomly find themselves the subject of whatever they've been influenced by.

The first time I ever posted something about how I grew up, or even about my family, it rang as something that people could relate to, and seemed to connect with the readers of this blog. As a result, I've decided that my misadventures of my youth are just as interesting as the ones of my adulthood. So, here we go, my Five MisAdventures of My Childhood.

5- Climbing into bed with my mom when I was afraid of the thunderstorms. 

Ever since I was a child, I was always frightened of thunderstorms. I would climb into bed with my mom, and she would tell me a story to occupy my mind, usually about something mythical, and these stories would involve kings, wicked dragons, princesses...but as I got older, they became tales of secret agents, star-crossed lovers, dynasties and government upheavals. All fabricated from spur of the moment ideas, and all fantastic. I lived for those stories, and began to slowly like thunderstorms because of them.

4- Cooking with my father.

My friends will tell you that my least favorite place to be is in the kitchen, but I can remember preparing dinner with my father, who made cooking fun. Watching him create his "Secret Spicy 'Maican Sauce" was always something I loved, not just because of the music he'd hum while cooking, but also the smells. He would tell me about my great-grandmother and how the recipe for the 'Maican Sauce was passed down from generation to generation, and one day, if I was lucky enough, I'd learn how to make it. The 'Maican Sauce, as I call it, can be used to make authentic Jamaican Jerk shrimp, chicken, beef, etc...

3- Sharing Ice Cream with my dog, Freddie

In the summers where I'd visit with my dad in New York, I would be allowed to buy an ice cream cone whenever the ice cream man came. Sometimes, I'd splurge and buy a milkshake, but usually I would buy a chocolate cone with sprinkles and sit on the steps of my house and eat it, slowly enough that it would melt on my hand. Freddie, my cocker spaniel that I had since birth and who was joined to my right hip, had to be restrained in order to not climb all over me and eat it, but became my personal paper towel, as he would lick my hand clean and then look at me as if he wanted more. As a result, I started buying him a vanilla cone of his own. My dad started to wonder why I asked for double the amount of money, and later would tell me he assumed I was buying ice cream for one of my local friends. When he discovered that the extra cone was for Freddie, he would begin to join us on the porch, eating ice cream. No matter what he did, for two summers, everyday at 5:15 or so, all three of us sat on those steps eating ice cream. Even if we were mad at each other or not speaking, it became a silent ritual.

2- Tree Climbing with Kevin

When we climbed trees, we suddenly became the masters of the world. We would climb one tree in particular, and stay in it for hours. Conversations that happened in the tree stayed there, and we experienced a lot of emotions in that tree. Sadness, regret, joy, love, sorrow and pain...they were all emotions that the tree held for us. We would often climb the tree when hiding from the world, and when our parents would call the other in search for their child, we would brave the outside to go to the tree, and usually find the other nearby, if not in its branches. Kevin told me about his cancer in that tree, while he was on the phone with me as I sat in DC, he was safely in its branches talking to me and telling all about the battle ahead. We used to picnic in that tree, and every single time that I pass it, I think of him. He carved our initials into its side as a monument to our memories one day, and recently, I saw a boy and a girl, who looked eerily like us sitting in it, giggling. It made me think of us, and I'm sure that as long as we are able, we'll find solace in its branches.

1- Walking around my neighborhood 

In my New York neighborhood and my Chicago neighborhood, two different worlds existed. In Queens, people were much more diverse, friendly and interactive. I often spent hours just walking around, usually taking my cocker spaniel, Freddie, with me, and I would find stores, friends and hideouts. It was not strange that a young child, a preteen and then a teenager would be ambling around the streets. I often thought about what life would be like if I'd grown up there in the summers I visited, and I would walk around, creating memories as if I had, and laugh at myself for doing it. Chicago, was also its own world, people seemed less open, less willing to understand my exploration and people often would ask me where my parents were. I'd often go for walks and my mom understood this, so she'd let me go...and as a result, she often had to explain to my neighbors that she knew where I was and that it was really okay. The neighborhood was divided, but still held a certain mystique to me, a flavor that I could not find in the streets of Queens. I loved the comparison, and when I tried to explain it to my mom or my dad, they would both look at me completely confused, simply because they'd never taken that journey with me. I felt like those walks were my own secret, one that only I knew about and understood. Because of that, they were a million times more special.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*