Packing my uniform up

I have to wear my school uniform once more - on Monday - so putting aside a shirt, a skirt, a pair of tights, a jumper and my tights I empty my wardrobe of the rest of my uniform. A certain sadness strikes me - knowing that it is it. No more going back to being a little tiny child again crying when I fell and grazed my knees, and when I lost my teddy. When love, hurt and difficulties did not exist. 


I have vivid memories of being a child, playing out in the street with all the other kids, when ever we played silly little games I would always be 16 - now at 16, I would do anything to just go back, just for one day to being small again. Being all grown up hasn't lived up to expectations. And to return to the times when nothing was an issue and the only thing that was bad was if you stayed up later than your bed time. I feel like I have spent my life wanting to grow up - do grown up things. I remember the days when smoking was a big nono but now its just normal. If there is such thing as normal, what is normal to one person - could be completely eccentric to the next.

I hold very few fond childhood memories, the good times didn't matter when you were a child because they were pretty much everyday as long as the ice cream man came round and you had your pound at the ready then it was a superb day. The bad days replay in my mind a lot - from a child, wishing that I had acted differently towards the people who caused them.

I remember how the smallest of things pleased me as a particularly young child - not like now a days - T.V programmes, the amazing technical improvements to dollies. I saw an advert the other day for a baby doll which spoke, done a wee, cried amongst many other things. When I was small - I was lucky if my baby blinked - and when it did - it usually was only with one eye. Yet these memories are the fondest. I once took my baby for a bath - Mum was so mad because she filled with water and she had to get my dad to take her apart to empty and dry her out. This memory makes me smile so much - so simply yet I thought it was the end of the world because my baby was in parts on the kitchen counter led on a towel.  

Simple, yet significant. Memories are funny things, at times they can make you smile so much, and other times they can make you cry. Yet they are always present:
"Every man's memories is his own personal literature" Aldous Huxley