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Wednesday, April 07, 2004

I was reading something somewhere about someone who did something exceedingly cute as a kid. They were telling the story as an adult, but after reading the story you were thinking about what a cool kid they were. Of course they could have made the story up, but man were they cute. My mother is terrible at remembering stories about us as kids. I envy lucky people like Oskar and Jasmine who will have this amazing record of their early years thanks to the dedication of their Mum and Dad . My Mum gets my sister and I confused as to who did what, and who said that funny thing and who was it that spread the contents of their nappy over the tent in 40 degree heat? (For the record – that was of course my sister). I have decided that when I have kids, whilst my record keeping might not be quite as good as the Hosken’s, I am going to make a reasonable effort to remember what funny things my kids did. Maybe follow them round with a notebook or something, waiting for them to do something funny.

When I was a teenager I started thinking that maybe the reason my Mum cant remember stories about me as a kid is that we never really did anything that remarkable. Maybe I was a boring little kid with no imagination, playing quietly with my dolls and lego just doing what you are supposed to do. So I asked my Mum again if she could think of anything I had done that was maybe a bit interesting or quirky.

Mum: “Well, there was the time that you cut the dining room curtains with scissors”

Me: “ But that’s just naughty, I want a story that shows my brilliant original thinking! That shows I was a passionate imaginative kid! The kind of kid you can tell stories about!”

Mum: “Hmm. Well of course you were like that, I just can’t think of anything right at the moment, let me think about it. Ah! I know!”

Me: “I knew there would have to be something, what is it?”

Mum: “You used to pretend to be a stop sign.”

Me: “A stop sign.”

Mum: “Yep, you’d just stand very still in the middle of the loungeroom, and if we walked past we had to stop, look both ways, and then we could keep going.”

Me: “That’s ridiculous”

Mum: “You were a brilliant child darling”

Not quite what I was after.



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