Does anyone else feel that we are on a roundabout and we don't know how to get off? Are we feeling dizzy with the government putting dollars over decency? Do we feel we are swinging by our necks on a government noose?
Of late, " I remember " has taken on a sense of urgency. It is as if our minds need to share as much as possible before the lights go out on the old world we grew up in and the New World Order takes over. Nostalgia is comfort food for the soul.
Particularly in these days when we are being driven crazy by profit over patriotism and callousness over care.
Today is frightening and tomorrow is full of dread. Increasingly, we are turning to yesterday to stay sane.
For it is in the memory of the past that we gain an insight into what makes us who we are and what we will become. That trip down memory lane is one that we hold onto when the present road is unpleasant, terrifying or boring. We can close our eyes and venture back in time to the familiar path of a well-trodden trail that gives us snapshots of happier days.
Memories are our link to the good old times when things were simpler and less filled with confusion and frustration.
In all of us, there exists a realm that is forever untarnished by the passage of time—the realm of childhood. A place where scraped knees were badges of honor and the world was an endless journey of discovery. As we navigate through the minefield of modern life, we often find ourselves yearning to revisit those wonderful days, when the sun seemed to shine brighter and laughter was the universal language. The pangs of nostalgia for our childhood are not mere echoes; they are the voice of our innocence, a call back to simpler times.
I remember my first day at school. I even remember what I was wearing. ( It was in the days before school uniforms.) I went to a small country primary school and it was customary to wear gumboots to and from school as we trudged through some fairly muddy places to get there. Inside my school bag I had a pair of slippers which were worn in class. I remember that my gumboots were red and everyone else wore black ones. Far from feeling different, I felt special. I had a self-confidence because my gumboots were red!
Today, conformity is everything and standing out from the crowd is not always celebrated or even tolerated. Just think of what we have faced as unvaccinated - our point of difference has caused us problems.
I remember my first pair of school slippers - they were in a soft felted wool and were also red. As I stepped out of my gumboots and put my slippers on, I knew that I was at school and it was as though I had clocked in and become a different person: my slippers signalled that I had left being my parent's child and instead had transformed into this magical thing called a " student. "
When I put my gumboots on and joined my siblings to slodge along the muddy road back home, I was entering the twilight zone between family member and student.
As the years rolled by, I often think how it seems that, as a child, the days were short and the years long. Now I find the days long and the years short.
The garden was a jungle waiting to be explored, and every tree was a potential lookout tower or a hidden cave. It was a time when cardboard boxes transformed into spaceships, and the world was coloured by our boundless imagination, not by the colour of someone's skin.
I remember when I used to get an orange and squeeze it so that it became all mushy inside. Then crack a hole in the skin and drink the juice. Orange juice has never tasted as good as it did when I made the orange into a bottle and sucked in that glorious sweet fluid. It was even better if you had put the orange into a creek or pond to chill it down after you squeezed it but before you opened it up.
I remember school milk - hot and starting to curdle and drinking it because I had to so that I didn't get rickets. We had kids in our school with rickets and they wore these frightening leg braces and I certainly didn't want to be like that. So down the milk went and I felt thankful that I was spared the horror of such a nasty affliction.
Who could forget the joy of swimming at the beginning of summer? Leaping into the lake or sea and shrieking with delight at that mind-chilling first bite of the water? Or the smell of the grass in spring when Dad had given the lawn its first haircut? The sound of the lawnmowers across the neighbourhood on a Sunday morning whilst our Mums were inside baking scones or pikelets for us to feast on when we got home from Sunday School?
When every day was a happy day.
Time was spent relishing the simplest joys, like riding our bikes or blowing bubbles that danced in the wind. Every discovery, no matter how small, was a triumph.
The smell of the Sunday Roast and stirring the gravy, made from pan juices and thickened with flour and seasoned with a small dollop of vegemite?
I remember the secret love affair I had with the book I had taken out of the public library; sitting under a lemon tree or in the shade of the chookhouse pear tree, shooing away the dragon flies and devouring every glorious word of " National Velvet. " and wishing that I could have a horse like Elizabeth Taylor .
Most of all, I remember being loved.
I remember being taught to respect my elders, respect my God, respect my flag and respect the police. I remember being taught to say " Yes please " and "Thank you " and "You're welcome. "
And, yes, I remember laughing when Dad asked me to pull his finger and he farted.
Mind you, this hippo could give Dad a run for his money.
OK OK I know I shouldn't have put that in but I couldn't help it - sorry!
I remember being cherished and cared for and cherishing and caring in return.
I remember when I felt safe.
Thank goodness we can still remember when it felt good to just jump in puddles with our best friend. Maybe we need to do it more?
My big regret is that our politicians don't remember. They have forgotten the joy of childhood innocence, the smell of freshly mown grass, being grateful for having a home, loving parents, a caring community and memories worthy of keeping.
Children today.will have memories of being locked up, masked, poisoned and fed with guilt for having been born.
It is time to get back to the good old days and not have to ask " Grandpa, tell me about the good old days. "
Our problem is that our governments are working on the theory that what they lose on the roundabout, they gain on the swings.
But that is another article.
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