THE ONCE AND NEVER TO RETURN QUEEN

”Heaven lies about us in our infancy!”

William Wordsworth, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

The dust of oblivion hasn’t gathered on the memories of my childhood. The coming
burden of old age is still at safe distance so I don’t have to worry about it. So I remember as
if it were yesterday: the ever-shining sun, the long summer days filled with dreams from
recent readings, the hip-high snow of yore, the winter days that were never cold but scented
with the promise of good old Christmas and the nostalgia for it in January, the excitement of
the coming school holidays, the birthday presents and the house full of dear friends and
relatives, the image of my young parents, my mom whom I could swear was the most
beautiful in the world, the smell of oranges and bread cake in the winter holidays, my first
hopeless love at twelve, the colds I used to catch regularly which allowed me to miss school
for days (God, that was great!), Neil Armstrong’s landing on the Moon which I saw live on
national television very late at night in 1969, my first day at kindergarten and the faces of
most of my mates there (it’s amazing how one can recall such distant memories in such crisp
detail), the constant daydreaming (I truly miss that in particular, haven’t done it in years), my
dear childhood friend, Rodian (God knows where he could be now) the like of whom I have
never managed to find in all the years that went by since we lost touch, the big backyard of
the old house now gone forever after the 1977 earthquake (so convenient we never had to go
out in the street to play), the street itself whose stores and houses I can’t possibly forget, the
first and only scooter and the first book I had for a gift, the New Year’s Eve carolling and the
egg-breaking contests at Easter, my mom again and again and again for ever, Engelbert
Humperdink’s“South of the Border Down Mexico Way” (is he still alive?) which I used to
listen to every Sunday morning when I was six or seven, my dear, dear sister (God rest her
soul too early passed into eternity), my toys that I used to destroy after a fortnight, the only
dog I ever had (he died of very old age), the French cartoon magazines Pif and so on and so
forth. Only heaven knows there’s too much to remember and too little space to write. What I
have written above is a piece of my life, the dearest one. Not everything one happens to read
here goes to everyone’s heart. Yet, I trust that every man or woman can find something to
ring a bell.
’’Heaven lies about us in our infancy!”, but life goes on relentlessly and, as the poet
goes on writing, ’’Shades of the prison-house begin to close/ Upon the growing Boy”. So sad,
so true. The only escape one has from the harsh reality is by recalling the good old days. The
good thing is that all misfortunes have faded away and only the good stuff has stayed. I can’t
and I won’t forget it. It’s in the blood running through my veins, it’s who I am and I can’t and
I won’t change that. If I were to be born again, I would change some important things in my
early youth, but never my childhood, the once and never to return Queen of my Camelot.
The dust of oblivion hasn’t gathered on my memories. Nor has it yet, neither will it
ever.