Lessons From Childhood

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt on 05/29/15: “Childhood Revisited.” Sure, you turned out pretty good, but is there anything you wish had been different about your childhood? If you have kids, is there anything you wish were different for them?

A child is like a sponge because he or she absorbs the good and the bad around them, from kindness to meanness,  open-mindedness to racism, patience to impatience, you name it. Even though we are all born with certain genes and traits, we unknowingly observe and learn how to become people from family, friends, teachers, caretakers, neighbors, etc. Me and my dog

In my experience, I learned how to be loyal and hardworking from my parents but I also learned that staying in an unhappy relationship is ok because that’s what they did. After a few unhappy, conflicted relationships as a young adult/college student, I learned that they are wrong, and that things can get complicated. I learned that people often don’t care  or pay attention if your feelings are being hurt by other kids because “everyone gets teased.” As an adult, I have learned that people with that opinion are either narcissistic, a bully or some similar variety of maladjusted. I learned that honesty should be the best policy but sometimes can be held against you, yet you should be honest if possible so you rest with a clear conscious. I learned that you should see the best and worst-case scenarios when you dream and make plans for your future. I later learned that, if you make a plan A and a plan B, you can reach your dreams while avoiding the worst-case scenarios and still getting close to your best-case scenario… Most importantly, you should go for IT, even if it means you work your way up and out of a Podunk town to the big leagues. I learned that parents love you (ideally) and although they mean well, they are not even close to having all of the answers. You have to learn from their good example and bad example, and find positive role models to guide you if your family can’t.  I also learned a little later on that you can’t choose your family, and sometimes you need to keep your distance if they are unhealthy, toxic and detrimental to your freedom and well-being. Chrellie with  Brother and Paternal Grandparents

I wish that I would have embraced my differences and that I would have realized that I was the special kid that my paternal grandparents told me that I was. I sometimes wish I would have punched just one bully from my wonderful Roman Catholic grade school because the teasing that teachers didn’t address would have stopped. I would have gladly taken the punishment. I wish I would have moved on and taken my own path sooner than I did because I held on too long to friendships that had grown apart. I am glad that I was an avid reader and writer, and that my family and paternal grandfather took us to zoos, museums, and to the Grant Park Symphony. I’m glad they taught me how, to get around Chicago. I absorbed a lot of great memories, and the rest made me the unique person I am.

© 2015 blogdaysofchrell

Back In Time

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”There are a few things that take me back in time, among them, are cucumbers and “black cows”. It sounds weird, I know, but cucumbers take me back to visits with my paternal grandparents on the northside of Chicago. Because we lived an hour away, my parents, my brother and I would trek north about once a month to visit Grandma and Grandpa, usually on a Sunday.  I liked to help Grandma in the kitchen while she prepared the meal by washing and cutting vegetables, setting the table and getting beverage of water or coffee for the rest of the family. She would often make something hardy, such as a roast or homemade beef stew. Grandma would also make a small salad as a side dish, and we would both snack on cucumbers as we got everything ready. Sometimes she would set aside an extra cucumber so it would be left for the salad because we had gotten hungry!After the meal, while Grandma would rest a little, Grandpa would come up with little games to play with my brother and I, we might walk to the corner store for the newspaper, or he would let me bang on his typewriter while wearing his hat, which was cross between a fedora and a panama straw hat. He would laugh while we took turns dancing around with his cane and took silly photographs with his camera. We, as a family, would then indulge in root beer floats, which my grandpa called “black cows.” My grandma and Grandpa would always send us off with a few small treats, a book or maybe an article of clothing, and my Grandpa would give my brother and I each a few dollars and tell us to hold on to our “mad money.” There was always a little family drama, but those were some of the best times!

© 2015 blogdaysofchrell