Growing up. Can there be a more universal theme? It's something we all share, those of us who were lucky enough to grow up.
How did we get here? Is it ever done, this process of growing? For me, it never seems to stop. I am not who I was ten years ago, or even a week ago. Each day I learn, change, try to grow into what I understand from my experience.
How far back should I go in response to this prompt? The earliest years, when growing was most important, are not part of my conscious memory. Though, stories do exist about that time in my life. There's one, for example, of when I came home from the hospital. My mother was sick with pneumonia, I've been told. A local farmhand was called in to be my caretaker. Did this break in parental bonding matter? Was my growing up affected?
I can recount here the history of my life, but the tale is always colored by what someone related to me, or by what I remember. As we all know, memory is porous. Impressions flow in and out of the tender membrane that separates what happened from what we believe may have happened.
Here is a photo of me as a baby. At least, my sister says it's me. But she is only fourteen months older than I am. How would she know? Let's accept the identification as reality. Why not? The baby picture is fine, and serves the purpose.
It wasn't a happy childhood, and yet there are happy memories. Are they real? Are happy memories essential to growing up? Do we create them, or tailor them to suit our needs? I'm not sure.
It doesn't matter too much if my memory is accurate or colored by fantasy. The idea serves my narrative, my life story. After all, this story belongs to no one else, so who can complain about my approximate grasp of 'reality'?
Heavens, in my lifetime the concept of reality has completely changed. Now we have alternate realities, parallel universes, wormholes. Who will pin me down to recreate a reality I am inclined to forget, or reject?
So, growing up was a fairly typical challenge, typical in the sense that I didn't know where I was going, or how to get there. I stumbled along. Didn't you?
I do remember some specifics, many of them tinged by irony. I couldn't read for a long time, then became a champion reader. Reading actually became the foundation of my academic success.
I couldn't keep up with my siblings as they roamed over local forest trails. And yet, in grade school I became a champion runner.
See what I mean by irony?
Here is one of the houses I lived in as a child. This I remember, so the statement is as true as any claim can be.
I affirm one truth from all of it, from growing up: Nothing is fixed. I am here now, in a certain state. Tomorrow, will I be? And if I am, will I have grown? Will there be more irony? I suspect that is the case.
My little essay on growing up may not have taken you where you expected to go, into the nooks and crannies of my quotidian existence. Perhaps you feel I should apologize. But why?
This is where my life has taken me. This is the clearest way I can explain what 'growing up' has meant to me.
A Note to Readers
This essay was written in response to the Inkwell nonfiction prompt #7. Nonfiction is a rather new initiative for the Inkwell community. We used to welcome only short stories. After a bit of thought, we considered that people might want to express themselves in a different way. The Inkwell is all about encouraging writing, so we invited nonfiction writers to join us.
If any one of my readers is inclined to write fiction or nonfiction, check out our different prompts. We have monthly and weekly fiction prompts, and now we have a weekly nonfiction prompt.
Take the plunge. Get it off your chest, whatever it is you have been hankering to say. If the prompts don't inspire you, then write what does. Please, though, read our rules and observe them (especially the rules on violence).
I hope this essay wasn't too irritating. It wasn't a charming narrative. It didn't take readers down memory lane. It was kind of an exercise for me on the idea of growing up.
Everybody, please have a peaceful day and do something creative. That always lifts my spirits.
Credit, Flower illustration: by 