"The Fall of My Youth"
or, "Seasons of Change"
As a kid, fall was this incredible time of year when my brother and I would get home on the bus, toss our backpacks onto the sidewalk, and grab a big ol’ sour apple from the tree. We’d hop on our bikes (mine was fully-loaded with a banana seat, daisy basket, and Smurfette license plate) and cruise down to the hay yard to play leapfrog on the haybales that Dad had recently hauled into the yard. When he’d unload them from the flatbed, they landed in sortof a wonky maze that was pure joy to climb on, under & around. It was almost a disappointment when he would stack them into neat pyramids for the winter. But when he did, we’d just change our strategy to racing across the tops of the stacks, carefully avoiding falling into the hot lava which undoubtedly existed in the crevasses between the bales.
I can so clearly remember the sweet smell of the hay, with the crisp in the air and the orange tones the sun cast as our shadows grew longer and longer as dusk approached. This blissful period of time seemed a fleeting moment as winter all too soon began to steal away daylight and procured its takeover with chilly winds and frosty mornings.
In hindsight, it seemed like such a liberating time in my childhood, where I was free to run like a wild child with the wind at my back, as fast as my lanky legs would carry me down the sloped hillside as my little brother and big dog trotted along behind. I know I had worries at that point in my life (didn’t we all?) but none that weighed me down and prevented me from running so fast my hair flew behind me and ended up a snarled mess. No mortgage or car payments, no work/life balance, no worrying about 3 other people before yourself, absolutely no burdens to hold me back. No fears to prevent me from playing out there with reckless abandon until my mom honked the horn (that meant business, like “supper’s ready” or “you’re in deep shit, young lady”) to bring me back inside. We’d return to the house with rosy cheeks (mine, always freckled with their sun-kissed summer glow) and consume massive amounts of Mom’s incredible home cooked meal before we were off to more serious things, like homework and piano practice.
Warm nights like tonight take me back to that time, to a point where I can actually smell the hay and damp leaves. Evenings like tonight make me want to run so fast my hair gets all crazy and my cheeks (still freckly, but now with some laugh lines!) get rosy. They make me hungry for my mom’s cooking, they make me wish for the sound of my dad’s voice, and they make me miss my brothers whom I share all these memories with, but now live hundreds, or thousands of miles away. On nights like these I am instinctively drawn outdoors, as the longing to re-enact these pieces of my youth is formidable. The stark distinction between tonight and evenings all those years ago is the unadulterated freedom I felt.
Sadly, I think we all lose sight of that when we “grow up”. We get too serious and proper and we forget to have fun. I dearly love the saying, “I may grow old, but I’ll never grow up.” I’m always thankful for parenthood, but especially so in times where I want to just… revel in my youth again! When you’ve got children no one snickers at you for dancing in circles to a made-up jig to keep your toddler entertained. No one laughs (to your face anyway) when you rhyme every sentence to get your preschooler to erupt into giggles. No one gives you grief when you run and jump and play with the same uninhibited exuberance that you felt when you were their age. Or maybe they do. But maybe now, you just don’t care.
So here’s hoping you’ll take a moment to go jump in a pile of leaves or pick an apple fresh off the tree (no, the produce section at the supermarket doesn’t count!) and surrender yourself to a little childlike behavior! Happy fall, everyone!
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| The munchkins, fully enjoying this perfect evening at the park. |
