This morning I went downstairs and the postman handed me a package from my mother. She’d sent a bunch of stuff I’d created as a child, which I opened with some apprehension because my childhood doesn’t exactly lend itself to nostalgia.
But it was fucking hilarious, and also interesting to see just how much of my personality hasn’t really changed…
Firstly, this portrait of my mother demonstrates about the same level of artistic ability I still possess.
I have a habit nowadays of scrawling notes to myself that seem completely random when I read them back, although they probably mean something to me at the time. Sometimes these do make sense but require more context:
Sometimes they seem to mean something but I have no idea what:
And sometimes they’re a little worrying:
Apparently as a child, this was an important thing I wanted to remember later:
The notes I received from teachers are similar to the ones I’ve received over the years from lecturers, clients, bosses… “JUST DO IT THE WAY YOU’VE BEEN TOLD, SCAR.”
Though some of the stuff I wrote is actually kinda cool. This song, for example, which I wrote when I was about six and apparently got two lines into before deciding it wasn’t worth continuing. But in terms of rhythm it’s not too bad for a kid. And it sounds sort of like a weird folk song. I might have to incorporate it into a future song somehow…
In case you can’t read the writing, it goes:
I’m a bowlegged chicken I’m a knock kneed hen
never been so happy since I don’t know when
I walk with a
(…and then apparently I gave up)
This makes sense in the context of my legs being fucked up, so as a child I walked strangely, sometimes with a stick but more often with stuff strapped around my legs. (I mean stuff the doctors gave me, not just random crap. Though that wouldn’t have been out of character either.)
When I sent these to the BFF prior to blogging them he asked if there was anything along the lines of the jelly babies debacle. This is a story from when I was a child, in which I allegedly was given a packet of jelly babies to eat. According to my mother, I emptied all the jelly babies out onto the table, lined them up in order of colour, bit all their heads off, then sat there staring at their disembodied corpses and giggling. Which bodes well.
There wasn’t anything at quite that level of macabre, but there was this worksheet:
At the instruction “Write a sentence that needs an exclamation point”, I responded with “Look out we are going to go over the cliff!”
Such an optimistic child.
I am not prone to bouts of nostalgia about my childhood, but today’s surprise package did make me smile.
What were you like as a kid? Which bits of your personality have remained the same?