almost as if by serendipity, i found myself picking up a copy of to kill a mockingbird that's been sitting on my night stand for months now. i'm on the second chapter now, but going through parts of it reminded me of my own childhood, particularly the part where Scout gets scolded by her teacher because she reads too well for Miss Caroline's tastes, and she insists on asking Scout's father to stop teaching her when he never actually did. Scout would recall how she would crawl into Atticus' lap whenever he read in his study and she would learn the words herself as his fingers ran through them.
I don't know why it is exactly (well, I have an inkling) but I've been thinking a lot about how differently parents raise their children, in particular, when they are in different stages in their lives. maybe there is a part of me that is bitter about how strict they are when they aren't sure of what they're doing, but tonight, all of a sudden, i was reminded of how good it sometimes was, even with all of the rules in place.
how i was read to nearly every night of my formative years, until I fell asleep. how they were still young enough to make up stories for me when they ran out of story books to read.
how it was still considered 'fun' to read when I was that young, gameboys and nintendos hadn't been invented yet, and so i got on with very old editions of the brothers grimm fairy tales (the gory kind! i wish i still had this book with me. i wonder if it is still in the old house, and if there is some way i could possess it), and all of the bible stories for children that were in my great grandmother's house. i remember reading and rereading them every time i visited her house for our morning coffee.
how aware i was of my observation skills, even at such a young age, so much so that i was able to fool many of the grownups living in my house into thinking that i was reading perfectly by age 3 when really i had memorized the books which i insisted be read to me over and over again.
how in spite of our humble beginnings, i would get pasalubong every night. how i loved those little boxes of sugared cereal and those imperfect mallows that they sold at my dad's office. back then, we had no concept of expensive and cheap, and so i looked forward to these treats so much!
how my dad would spend afternoons drawing things with me sometimes, and draw makeshift masks, clocks and costumes for me for school. i remember vividly one owl mask that i thought was amazing.
how they had time to call us up in the middle of the day then, to just say hello and ask how i was doing. i remember going through many minutes of 'no, you hang up first' with my mom, and how my dad would find it hard to be mad when i incessantly rang his desk or when i insisted on spinning in his chair, buzzing at invisible intercoms for secretaries to make me coffee, because I thought that was what lawyers did for a living.
how excited they were for me to try things. how i would be dragged to hotels to see miniscule entertainers (we could only afford the very last rows) and i would be treated to choco loco at manila pen, and chicken and chips at shakeys after. how we would all be excited to watch musicals together. how we had time to go biking at the circle on saturday mornings.
i wonder what kind of parents my brother and kids of his generation had. we may have been poorer when it was my turn to be a child, but it almost feels as if they had been more eager to try then than they did the second time around.
No comments:
Post a Comment