May 4, 2013 Blog Dare Post – Sounds of My Childhood

This will be a nice trip down Memory Lane…interesting how you can think back to some things and realize that you were just a tad too young to actually remember but still; you do. I find myself often talking to my older siblings about the past and they usually ask me how I could possibly remember these things because oftentimes the things that I distinctly remember took place well before I reached the age of four. That is why I liked this prompt because my best memories really are associated with sound – mostly music along with some common sounds that don’t really seem significant until you actually take yourself back in time. I’m not sure if this will rhyme or not but we’ll see when it’s done. Isn’t if funny how the five senses can literally bring the past smack dab into your present? Try to remember some common sounds from your childhood and post them comments. Here are the ‘sounds of my childhood…

I loved when Daddy said that we were going for a ride.

Everybody hopped in and waited for him to strap my big brother in

and fold his wheelchair to place it in the back as usual.

Our white utility van with the hunter green metal interior was

My playground…feigning a Sammy Davis Jr. inspired tap-dancing routine

just to hear my daily polished hard bottoms clang against the van floor.

But that was never enough.

Each impromptu dance medley was sure to include

a little Otis Redding stomp followed by that famous

James Brown side-slide as the beat and bass-line to “I’m Black and I’m Proud”

resonated mentally. No one could hear it but me.

Momma and my sisters cheered me on and Daddy would say,

“Go ahead and dance, baby!” At least until it was time for

Me to be seated and strapped in also.

The ride was fun as always, but much too short this time.

The van’s doors opened and slammed shut as I thought, “Whose house is this and why did Daddy say that

we were ‘here’ now?”  Momma walked through the doorway

Me on her hip, my distraught voice echoed through empty rooms,

This is not my house! “Yes it is, Punkin…it’s our new house now.” Momma

re-tied the bow in back of my white and yellow-flowered dress as she tried

To calm me despite my loud shouts that we were not at home and

We needed to go back!

The dance was over…I walked through each room

shouting that none of the rooms were mine…the spacious living room

reiterated  my exclamations by echo

I wanted

to go home! But later, I got over it.

The music played once more, and dancing began again.

Every Saturday, Little Stevie Wonder‘s ‘Fingertips’ and

The Supremes’ ‘You Can’t Hurry Love‘ among many

other Motown sounds turned sock-buffing hardwood floors

into a party. At night while holding on to the side of my crib,

I would dance even more as the Stylistics‘ “Rock and Roll Baby” made

its way to my ears from our transistor radio. I love my new home now.

We had brought our window unit from ‘home’…I loved to hear it run as it cooled the room. We also brought

our vacuum cleaner…its inflatable hose and loud roar frightened me. I ran from it.

But I grew more comfortable and much happier as I grew.

Especially on the Fourth of July as rock salt filled  the ice cream machine.

It hums to its own beat just before my favorite flavors cool my lips in the

Summer heat. Our own rendition of The Star Spangled Banner is the prelude

to pops and blasts from Fireworks City while the grill sizzles a mouth-watering meal.

Brook Benton, Sam Cooke, and The Platters lull me to sleep afterwards.

We could leave our windows opened back then.

Through the screen and with the night breeze blew in a nocturnally syncopated

Cicada composed chorus.

I awake to the sound of songs of praise while dishwater runs and the smell of breakfast wafting…

Momma loved to sing and speak.  The church choir could not compare…especially when she

was on program to do ‘The Creation’. No one spoke or even whispered – just listened – enthralled –

Her voice; a dynamic vessel traveling from the podium directly into the psyche of all.

I couldn’t wait for school the next day. Music was my favorite course. Orff music to be exact.

A through G are the most important letters in the alphabet; the source of my melodic moods and

Harmonically charged energy with each new song learned while my mallets hit the

Xylophone’s lower notes for a well-rounded sound. Piano lessons in the music lab after school prepared me

for my first recital where our group won second place…a hearing mind keeps three/four-time

During ‘The Waltz’. I was elated when my school added ballet class to our arts program.

This was my chance to dance even more…the chance to delicately plie – tondu – degage in time with Lully and Tchaikovsky.

What a wonderful time that was for me…as well as all of my other memories.

My baby sister’s newborn cries, “Happy Birthday Jesus” by Burl Ives, the shake of

my hoola-hoop under blue skies…seen and heard alike;

The sounds of my childhood bring the past into the present

in a brand new light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. buildingalifeofhope
    May 21, 2013 @ 05:10:19

    Just love this trip! So much music and movement in your childhood- I could feel the energy!

    Reply

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