The conclusion was that remembering his inner child helped him stay true to his creative goals, which is lovely. Inspirational. So inspirational that I wanted to do a post just like it. A spot of nostalgia and good humored whimsy about how creative, adorable and determined I was as a child and how it affects me to this very day.
And then I remembered that child-Becky had the capacity to be a fricking moron.
I think I got through primary school without being institutionalized because the teachers thought I was intelligent. More fool them. Deceptively posh-voiced and quiet doesn't a genius make. Some examples of said moronish...ness...
I took Disney movies literally: Mini Becky used to truly believe that if she stuck her arm out for long enough at a time, a bird or squirrel would eventually clamber onto it and come for a stroll with her. Little did she know that an insane, wild-haired, wide-eyed munchkin with day-glo white skin running around a park wasn't the most inviting perch for any of nature's critters.
I believed EVERYTHING: Gullible with a capital duh. I once scampered over to my parents at a trip to the beach, proud as punch that I'd found a fossil. A real life fossil (I was REALLY into dinosaurs. Unhealthily so). My stepdad's stepdad (I so modern!) had informed me that it was a special kind of dinosaur egg with a special name and I should handle the grey, powdery thing very carefully. "Mum, mum! I found a fossil!! Uncle Keith says it's called a turd!" [presents dried, flaky old dog poop to disgusted guardian like it's the secret to life itself].
Feathers over family: I once ignored my grandad for an entire day for having the sheer audacity to yank me out of the path of an oncoming car and tell me off for being in its path. He failed to understand that I was this close to catching a really good pigeon feather. Goddammit!
If in doubt, piss your pants: Didn't feel like being in school? Easy. Pissed my pants. Bored at creche? Piece of piss! Had a piss! Wanted to go home because mummy's friend's house was so incredibly fucking dull (who doesn't have pets to play with?! Who??) and mummy'd so far ignored all attempts at reasoning with her? Sit quietly and wait to go home.
Only joking! Pissed my pants! I only stopped the stealth weeing when my mum literally started to pay me a penny every time I successfully spent one at an appropriate time. I displayed a level of manipulation that was literally taking the piss.
Suspect ambition: I always knew that when I grew up, I wanted to be a dinosaur. A really freaking majestic one, like a T-Rex. But I eventually figured out in a feat of surprising logic (if my behaviour up until that point was anything to go by) that this would be impossible. So, instead, I opted to be the world's most superest author superstar. Until I realised that you had to actually write the words that went with the pictures.
I genuinely believed I could sing like Ariel off of The Little Mermaid: Cue weeks upon weeks of "serenading" the family with my "haunting" melody of Ahhh-ah-AAAAAAAH-ah-ah-AAAAAAGH!!! from the bathtub.
See? Hard to muster up the desire to impress a turd handling squirrel botherer with what I've achieved so far.
On a soppier note, despite the special behaviours I displayed growing up (and those few were just the tip of the iceburg), I'd like to think now-me and kid-me would get along pretty well.
- I've retained my passion - I can't simply like something. If I get my claws into something that really interests me, I won't let it go - be it a hobby, an idea or an especially fluffy animal.
- I still maintain a sense that if it's not fun, there's no point in killing yourself over it. I relish silliness.
Me, Rach and Dad. I'm the grinning, chubby-faced one who looks like she's being restrained.