My Childhood, Part Three

I was extremely excited.

The year was 1997, and I was turning twelve years old.

In our household, birthdays weren’t a very big deal, except my own, to myself.

We had gone into Stockholm a week earlier, and my father had taken me into a humongous shop, filled with stuff of my dreams.

He told me to pick my favourite thing in the whole store, and he would see what he could do about possibly purchasing it for me.

I jog-walked around the entire store, waiting for something to reach out, and ensnare me.

Finally, something did. Nestled in between a train set, and an enormous bag of glass marbles, it was immediately the only thing I cared for.

A perfect, round snow-globe. I had to have it. I quickly checked the price tag, and found it to be reasonably priced.

Then, I shouted very loudly to my father, beckoning to him like a man possessed.

I walked out of the store with my father five minutes later, him holding my snow-globe, and me holding his warm, leathery hand.

This was why I was so excited, on that cold November night of 1997.

I couldn’t wait to hold my snow-globe again.


My Childhood, Part Two

My mother was a very strong woman. When she felt like she was correct, she went into a sort of lockdown. A bit like the jaws of a pitbull.

One such instance occurred on her own wedding day. My father had suggested that they should go to France, which was incredibly romantic and a sort of dream of his. My mother, feeling as if they had better save the money, politely declined.

Well, not so politely, actually. She really just said no, and folded her arms.

My father found out that day that my mother was not a force to be reckoned with. He quickly decided on simply staying home, and visiting in-laws. This suited my mother just fine.

My father just had to deal with it. He only hoped she would say yes to a child.

By the time my parents had been happily married for 6 months, I was already on the way, and my father would burst into laughter when he saw mother.

“Oh, my, my.  How big our son will be!  He will sink my boat!”

Fast forward about 8 years, and I was a little homeschooled brat, annoying my mother with my constant questions, and running about in our yard.

She felt like homeschooling was the proper way to teach a child, and she would not yield to any superstition or stereotype.

I believe that she was correct in her decision, and for her to see my entire education through was no easy feat, to be sure.

If she were still with me on this earth, I would thank her again.