While it's true that my childhood wasn't the most pleasant, and many of my childhood friends would agree that mine was a little more traumatic than that of most of my peers, it wasn't all bad. And sometimes, we need to look back and realize that certain things weren't all bad. I do have a lot of good memories. As I sit and stare out the window at the continuously falling snow, I'm reminded of some of my favorite childhood memories.
I grew up at 6531 Teakwood Ct., in the College Hill section of Cincinnati, Ohio. Teakwood Ct. was a dead end with woods behind our end of the cul-de-sac. Through the woods, was McEvoy Park. While we mostly used McEvoy for playing soccer (as it otherwise had a reputation for being a hot spot for drug deals), on snowy days, it became THE best place in the world. McEvoy has a number of pretty epic sledding hills. And when I say "epic," I actually mean..."EPIC." The hills were high and steep. If it was really cold, the creek that ran through the valley of those hills would even be frozen over. If it wasn't, well, we worked on perfecting two different skills: 1. Bailing at the bottom of the hill, before we hit the creek (no small- or safe- feat coming off of those particular hills, believe me), or 2. Gaining enough momentum to sail over the creek, and bailing before the sled began to slide backwards, back into the creek. We took both skills very seriously. No one wanted to land in the creek and then have to leave, run through the woods, get home, change clothes, and run back. Who wants to miss 45 mintues to an hour of that fun? Besides. We never knew who would show up with a bigger and better sled. We didn't want to miss out on some awesome action! We were actually pretty good at avoiding that creek. But every once in a while, one of us would end up in it, and would run off into the woods, telling the others we'd be back. Come to think of it, that was pretty funny.
It was always like this fun reunion when we all showed up at the park. Depending on exactly where we lived, we would end up on a certain hill in the park. While we would sometimes take a go at another hill, we mostly stayed on our own hills, with our own group of people. My hill consisted mostly of Reynolds, Molloys, Wiggershauses, Ganders, and a couple other families. We'd wave at each other and trudge to our spots at the top of the hill, and discuss who was sledding with whom, and on what sled. Man, we had fun. We'd usually get called home about 12 or 1 for lunch (and no, cell phones weren't actually a thing back then- either a parent or an older sibling would emerge from the woods to do the calling), and we'd wave goodbye. But after a warm lunch and a change of clothes, we'd be back at the park until it was time to go home so we could beat the dark. Those days were some of my happiest. My favorite days were those before my brother left home, when we all went sledding. It was still fun when I was the only one left at home, but not as much. My dad would go with me then, which was fun (he was REALLY good at bailing before the creek!), but it was never the same.
Now every time we have a big snowfall, I think about McEvoy and the hours upon hours we spent sledding. About the walks through the woods. About how biting the cold was when I wound up with my hands (or worse) in the creek. About the smiles, the laughs, the shouts, and the fun. Those were some really, really good days. And while I have lost touch with literally everyone except the Wiggershaus kids, I wonder if snowy days doesn't elicit the same thoughts in all of them. The same smiles and fond memories. While most of the time, I say, "good riddance," to my childhood, these are the days I remember fondly. These are the days I want to hold onto.
You know, I think it sometimes takes a lot of courage to be able to admit that certain things weren't all bad. That in the midst of the traumas and the painful memories, there were good things there too. I think that usually, we worry that admitting there were good things somehow voids the bad. Or makes it somehow okay. But that's not true. I have some really good memories from my childhood. Was it overall great? No, it wasn't. But was it all bad? No. Some of those memories, I wouldn't trade for the world. Balance is good. We don't have to look at the world through a lens of optimism or pessimism. The glass is both half full and half empty. There were moments of sunshine through the rain.
There's a quote from season five of Doctor Who that gets me every time. The 11th Doctor says to Amy Pond, "The way I see it, life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't always spoil the good things and make them unimportant." I think that as humans, we often worry that the good things automatically soften the bad, and make them less bad. And we're so scarred, we worry that acknowledging the good will render the scars less awful. But this quote says it all. The good doesn't always soften the bad. The bad is still sometimes, just as bad. But neither can we allow the bad to rob us of the good that was there. Those good things are still there, and they are still, to quote the Doctor, important. And that does take a lot of courage to acknowledge.
I grew up at 6531 Teakwood Ct., in the College Hill section of Cincinnati, Ohio. Teakwood Ct. was a dead end with woods behind our end of the cul-de-sac. Through the woods, was McEvoy Park. While we mostly used McEvoy for playing soccer (as it otherwise had a reputation for being a hot spot for drug deals), on snowy days, it became THE best place in the world. McEvoy has a number of pretty epic sledding hills. And when I say "epic," I actually mean..."EPIC." The hills were high and steep. If it was really cold, the creek that ran through the valley of those hills would even be frozen over. If it wasn't, well, we worked on perfecting two different skills: 1. Bailing at the bottom of the hill, before we hit the creek (no small- or safe- feat coming off of those particular hills, believe me), or 2. Gaining enough momentum to sail over the creek, and bailing before the sled began to slide backwards, back into the creek. We took both skills very seriously. No one wanted to land in the creek and then have to leave, run through the woods, get home, change clothes, and run back. Who wants to miss 45 mintues to an hour of that fun? Besides. We never knew who would show up with a bigger and better sled. We didn't want to miss out on some awesome action! We were actually pretty good at avoiding that creek. But every once in a while, one of us would end up in it, and would run off into the woods, telling the others we'd be back. Come to think of it, that was pretty funny.
It was always like this fun reunion when we all showed up at the park. Depending on exactly where we lived, we would end up on a certain hill in the park. While we would sometimes take a go at another hill, we mostly stayed on our own hills, with our own group of people. My hill consisted mostly of Reynolds, Molloys, Wiggershauses, Ganders, and a couple other families. We'd wave at each other and trudge to our spots at the top of the hill, and discuss who was sledding with whom, and on what sled. Man, we had fun. We'd usually get called home about 12 or 1 for lunch (and no, cell phones weren't actually a thing back then- either a parent or an older sibling would emerge from the woods to do the calling), and we'd wave goodbye. But after a warm lunch and a change of clothes, we'd be back at the park until it was time to go home so we could beat the dark. Those days were some of my happiest. My favorite days were those before my brother left home, when we all went sledding. It was still fun when I was the only one left at home, but not as much. My dad would go with me then, which was fun (he was REALLY good at bailing before the creek!), but it was never the same.
Now every time we have a big snowfall, I think about McEvoy and the hours upon hours we spent sledding. About the walks through the woods. About how biting the cold was when I wound up with my hands (or worse) in the creek. About the smiles, the laughs, the shouts, and the fun. Those were some really, really good days. And while I have lost touch with literally everyone except the Wiggershaus kids, I wonder if snowy days doesn't elicit the same thoughts in all of them. The same smiles and fond memories. While most of the time, I say, "good riddance," to my childhood, these are the days I remember fondly. These are the days I want to hold onto.
You know, I think it sometimes takes a lot of courage to be able to admit that certain things weren't all bad. That in the midst of the traumas and the painful memories, there were good things there too. I think that usually, we worry that admitting there were good things somehow voids the bad. Or makes it somehow okay. But that's not true. I have some really good memories from my childhood. Was it overall great? No, it wasn't. But was it all bad? No. Some of those memories, I wouldn't trade for the world. Balance is good. We don't have to look at the world through a lens of optimism or pessimism. The glass is both half full and half empty. There were moments of sunshine through the rain.
There's a quote from season five of Doctor Who that gets me every time. The 11th Doctor says to Amy Pond, "The way I see it, life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't always spoil the good things and make them unimportant." I think that as humans, we often worry that the good things automatically soften the bad, and make them less bad. And we're so scarred, we worry that acknowledging the good will render the scars less awful. But this quote says it all. The good doesn't always soften the bad. The bad is still sometimes, just as bad. But neither can we allow the bad to rob us of the good that was there. Those good things are still there, and they are still, to quote the Doctor, important. And that does take a lot of courage to acknowledge.
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