All of a sudden I am five years old again, sitting on a carpeted floor with other five year olds who are just like me. Five year olds whose mums braid their hair in the morning, five year olds who don't eat their vegetables, five year olds who have scabby knees and fat fingers.
We are all five years old.
In front of us, sitting on a big chair to show that she is in charge, even though she is quite small, is the teacher we have come to love. Her red hair flares out, away from her face, and her nose is dusted with freckles. She is the one we go to for cuddles and pats on the back, when our friend has stolen our favourite crayon. She is the one who sits beside us, slowly teaching us to count the coloured bears in front of us so we can go home and enthusiastically show our parents that we know our numbers up to one hundred.
Every so often, she would show us something new. Last week she introduced a puppet that was exactly the same as the one I had inherited from my grandfather, one I never really appreciated because it was wooden and old-fashioned. Today, she has graced us with a book. She pulls it out and begins to turn the pages as a story unfolds and plays before our eyes.
It's about a caterpillar who doesn't stop eating, and such a simple story brings such delight to our little minds. Enough delight to last 12 years to today. Enough delight to be called my favourite childhood story.
Enough delight to look for it in every bookstore I walk into and be five years old again.
We are all five years old.
In front of us, sitting on a big chair to show that she is in charge, even though she is quite small, is the teacher we have come to love. Her red hair flares out, away from her face, and her nose is dusted with freckles. She is the one we go to for cuddles and pats on the back, when our friend has stolen our favourite crayon. She is the one who sits beside us, slowly teaching us to count the coloured bears in front of us so we can go home and enthusiastically show our parents that we know our numbers up to one hundred.
Every so often, she would show us something new. Last week she introduced a puppet that was exactly the same as the one I had inherited from my grandfather, one I never really appreciated because it was wooden and old-fashioned. Today, she has graced us with a book. She pulls it out and begins to turn the pages as a story unfolds and plays before our eyes.
It's about a caterpillar who doesn't stop eating, and such a simple story brings such delight to our little minds. Enough delight to last 12 years to today. Enough delight to be called my favourite childhood story.
Enough delight to look for it in every bookstore I walk into and be five years old again.
No comments:
Post a Comment