Posted by: Calmseas (Mike) | September 9, 2010

Oh To Be 10

Do you ever want to be ten years old again and climb up into that tree-house in the backyard for an fanciful afternoon of play or spend hours out in the woods with your friends discovering new niches and building forts and holding war games in which you conquer and rule vast territories or jump on your mini-bike and pull the start cord and set out for destinations both known and unknown or dig igloos out of snow banks in the winter or a hole in the dirt in the backyard in the summer and cover the hole with weathered plywood leaving only enough door-space to get in and out or climb up onto the roof of the shed or even the house and survey all there is to see throughout the neighborhood and control the realm from your perch on high or take off on a bicycle expedition with your friends if only to the local convenience store and back or swing on a rope suspended from the sturdy branch of a huge oak tree hanging far out over the water of the local lake and drop into the water for a refreshing splash in the heat of the summer or make a game of getting back to shore without falling into the water in the cool of the autumn or play catch in the backyard with your best buddy or participate in a sandlot baseball game with a group of best buddies or head out into the wind and rain of a raw late-October evening with a friend or two to collect as many sweet treats from as many unknown people in as many unknown homes as you can in a two- or three-hour period or take a trip to Texas and fake a southern accent to blend in with the kids down there or pay a dollar of someone else’s money for a haircut or a nickel for a pack of gum at the store that you just pedaled your bike to with your friends or wondered what it would be like to grow up and become an adult in the distant future with a star-date that was beyond your ability to fatham?

The star-date has arrived.  Do you ever want to be 10 years old again?

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Responses

  1. Do I ever want to be 10 again? In a word–no.

    At 10 my world was khaki and tan and baked brick-hard by an unforgiving sun. The wide, venetian blinds shuddered violently under the sonic boom assault. At night, tucked safely in bed, I would try to peer into the dark only to see armies of red ants and black ants, writhing in agony as their masses fought to the death.

    At 10, life was a series of bomb drills and my playmates had to be approved by the CIA.

    At 10, there was a sick, twisting knot in my stomach that never quite went away, and I knew that bomb–blistering, white-hot–had my name on it.

  2. Ah . . . you had a different experience than I did. I would go back again, at least for a couple of days. There are a lot of pleasant memories for me from that time in my life.


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