I'm mixing it up a little bit this week and thought I'd take a stab at a memoir-esque sort of article. I'm going to take you back to when I was only 3-years-old and into some of my brightest memories. It'll probably be interesting for us all to see what I can come up with, let's hope I find what I'm looking for. Wish me luck!
The smell of cinnamon-butter toast wafted from the kitchen as I sat before the glass TV screen, my eyes stubbornly glued to Blue as she led Steve through the living room, past Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper and into the backyard. I held tightly to my Blue’s Clues backpack as Steve walked right past the blue-paw-print-studded clue. Go back, you missed it, I yelled. Steve turned, seeming to hear my exclamation just as a clank and a frustrated grumble somehow broke my concentration as a pan fell in the kitchen, only feet from me.
You said there’s a clue? Where? Steve asked me. He asked me! I nearly tripped over my light-up sketchers as I frantically pointed to the clue, a finger pressed against the cool glass. Steve turned and, behold, he saw it, the clue. My entire existence was justified as I served my purpose.
My sheer concentration was cracked when an impatient grunt interrupted my thoughts. I managed to tear my eyes from the screen. Dad stood at the top of the two-step-staircase, my fluffy pink jacket in hand. Smiling, almost sheepishly, I skipped away from the screen and he effortlessly slipped my skinny arms into the sleeves.
The screen door opened with a reluctant groan as he ushered me out the door, I heard the TV click off with a magnetic cry. I didn't think much of it as dad hoisted me into the reliable Ford Bronco. My eyes wandered mindlessly over the battered interior as he buckled me into my car seat.
He flashed a warm smile as the door closed and he climbed into the driver's seat ahead of me. If you can believe it, it was that smile that encouraged me to face difficulty in my later years.
I kicked my light-up sneakers against the seat just for the joy of watching them alight, dad didn't seem to mind as we pulled out of the driveway. Pink and blue lights bounced around the cabin as he pulled in the direction of my daycare, it was just another morning for us.
We made the familiar, double-edged turn onto Ninth Street when he asked me if I wanted to go see Mrs. Jones' lambs. I blinked foggily as I tried to recall what lambs were, I'd never seen one in person and couldn't remember if they were the fuzzy white things or not. He sensed my hesitation, so made the decision for me. Little did I know that his decisiveness would dwindle for me as the years went by, as any good father would do.
Come back next week for part II!