MY CHILDHOOD MEMOIR

Hazel Ann C. De Guzman, 12-Ruby

Slowly but quietly, spring is coming towards us. The weather is getting warmer

and warmer, branches of trees begin sprouting new leaves, and all different kinds of

birds fly merrily in the sky. Color is everywhere, above all green. It stays lighter longer, a

wonderful respite from the dull, dark, dreary days of winder. Flowers begin to blossom.

A new year, full of life, has begun.

Looking at the tender green leaves of the trees through the window, I can't help

thinking of my childhood. When spring is coming, wheat begins to grow after a long

winter, and its small and long leaves get greener, shaking with the wind. Rapes (a kind

of flower) bloom with golden flower and give off a heavy scent. The trees begin to bud,

and in a short time, there are leaves, green and vivid, a happy reminder that the long

winter is behind us and that we have happier, celebratory seasons before us and that

we will not be facing the poor weather again for some time. We celebrate life, we

celebrate nature, and we celebrate our close connection with both.

My deepest memory of childhood is the downstairs lawn, which was green all

year round. This green lawn brought us infinite happiness as a family and as children. I

recall how we would gather out there, as a family, and enjoy the lovely weather; how we

children would run amok and play children’s games out there in the cradle of nature. We

were a fully integrated part of it, and it was a fully integrated part of us. We were one

with the lawn, inseparable.

Celebration was always important. We would have many social events on the

lawn. We children would run about getting into trouble while our parents conversed with
each other, enjoying one another’s company, enjoying the nature themselves, though

perhaps not quite as hands on as we children did. There were always a large number of

bugs on the lawn, such as grasshoppers, butterflies, dragonflies, beetles, ants,

earthworms, and so on. There’s no denying that the lawn was not only their paradise,

but also our fairyland where we little children could sing and dance, play all day long

and enjoy life to the fullest. Of course, being children, we had to take our entertainment

where we could get it, and the bugs and nature supplied a very rich source of

entertainment for us. Most of the time, we would pick up a beautiful flower, catch a

butterfly, or secretly take away a melon seed that other people had put out on the lawn

to dry, and then would begin to eat with our not-yet completely straight teeth. Everything

was wonderful as long as we could casually find an empty bottle in the house. Once we

arrived at the lawn with it, we would just make a mess with some extremely tiny dry

twigs on the lawn, and then the grasshoppers would jump out from everywhere. When

we would spot one grasshopper, we would just wait a few short moments until it rested

on the grass, and then we would quickly come up with the bottle, and would cage the

unfortunate grasshopper in no time. So, we then we would go back to the lawn to play,

fairly satisfied with ourselves and our stance, having stood up for the poor, defenseless

chickens, and not in the mood to care any longer whether he had killed them or not. We

had moved on to other things.

Passions could be fleeting back in those childhood days; you could care about

something more than anything else in the world for a few fleeting moments, then

instantly go back to the innocence of it all, to playing with friends, to capturing yet

another grasshopper, to being amazed at its extraordinary abilities as an escape artist,

and to not spending another thought on the local man who killed chickens for a living.

How little we knew back then about the adult world, about the pressures of earning a

living. I suppose we could have learned more from the chicken man; had we not wished

instead to taunt and tease and embarrass him.

Day after day, time passed, and our childhood disappeared forever, leaving us

only fractions of memories. The carefree joys of childhood slipped gradually into the

realities of an adult world in which we understand why the chicken man had to kill the

chickens. But I still cannot help but laugh whenever I think of the happy and carefree

childhood life. While it may just be childhood memories, they remind us of our roots,

who we are, and who we wanted to become as people.