Reflecting on a Golden Childhood

I woke up laughing this morning. And when I was done snickering, I was nostalgic and reflective. I couldn't go back to sleep and got up early to get it out. Ben roused a minute and I told him the story from the dream. He laughed and went back to sleep. I must have slept well enough because I had random, vivid dreams.

I ate a corn tortilla, mini taco-looking thing. Angelia served some at a family party Sunday. I didn't eat one then because I don't eat corn. But in my dream, I ate it. And the tortilla was a good one, the sweetness and flavor came out like a well-made tortilla ought to. MMmmmmm. The intensity of taste and correct texture was in the dream. Still can almost taste it.

There was another one, political for some reason and one other about friends I would do service with at the church building.

But the one that has me dwelling in the golden nostalgia for childhood included women I have known the very longest (outside my family) that I still have contact with. They were the girls of Lakewood III ward.

When we moved into Lakewood and lived on Woodruff Ave, the ward was the 4th ward. My very first memory of that ward is Halloween. Mother took us to somebody's house where the kids had built a "haunted house" tour in their backyard. And the guide had the most interesting voice I'd heard in my short six years. I didn't know the family although I had been in Primary and Sunday School with them for about 2 months by then.

It was the Cope family. At the time, there were 5 kids. And they were fun-loving (still are), involved in everything, and seemed to include everyone. They were loud (not a bad thing I thought) and together. I always admired the family. Their mom was cool, and their dad became my bishop.

There were other homes I spent time in, I can picture the McAffe's, Bennett's, Harmon's and Larsen's. There were alot of us girls in that class. I went through school with these girls because I went to both Thomas Jefferson and Ester Lindstrom. We were at Roosevelt and Mayfair together. We weren't all part of the same groups at school, but we shared Primary and Sunday School lessons, MIA and girls' camp, roadshows and Seminary.

I dreamt there was some kind of reunion, so we were all women. We were at a community pool. In dreams, at least mine, juxtaposition is not a question, however bizarre it may be in reality. So it was no problem that when the life guards cleared the pool for 5 minutes and we stepped into the changing area, there was the Cope's home-which, as I now consider the layout, really wasn't so (remember juxtaposition in dreams) but we were comfortable thinking it was. As we waited, Stephanie, Bonnie, and Jody (with the fascinating voice) had just arrived. Karie and I were already changed, but I was having wardrobe issues and was glad for time to adjust an elastic band on top. Jodi doing a wardrobe check in the mirror and made a comment (in Spanish?!?! love my dreams!) which I caught and smiled at. But it triggered a memory from teaching. I told the story to the women who were the girls I grew up with.

9 years ago, I taught ESL Biology. I had a lab activity out, set up on the counters around the room. In those years, the style was that the hem of the shirt didn't quite make it to the waistline of the pants/skirt. Because of dress code, the girls overlapped as little as possible, we teachers reminded as much as possible, and the girls tugged down as pretentiously as possible. One girl in a short skirt leaned over at a station to complete the activity there. I was somewhat concerned about the skirt length and kept an eye out because the boys needed to finish their worksheet as well. She shifted and exposed the edge of her thong waistband, not the part of the skirt I had been worried about. I rolled my eyes and cast them about the classroom. Everyone else was engrossed in the work. Presently she must have felt the exposure of her back and made an adjustment. Instead of tugging her shirt down, like I expected, she reached for the waistband of her skirt. And got the thong, and gave it a tug. I still laugh as I imagine her face as she realized her error. I'm pretty sure I didn't laugh, but I'm pretty sure I smirked. When she turned around, she knew I had seen her gaffe. And apologized. I think I said something like I wasn't the one who was uncomfortable.

As I finished telling the story to my friends, I was laughing hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, remembering, and woke myself up. Smiling at my funny students, warm in the glow of childhood and nostalgia. Because as awkward and shy as I felt around the other girls, I could be amused and uninhibited around them as well. I always thought that was a liability. Today, I'm not so sure.