Sometimes in life I go along not remembering little things from my childhood, even though I do attempt to remember as much as I can. I suppose writing it down would be a good idea so that when I reach my parents age I’m not going, “What?” However, I’m not that adventurous, the writing it all down part. It just seems like too much to write down.
So I go along and something happens that brings back an insta-memory. That happened last week. I woke to the sound of a hammer pounding on a two-by-four. Ah, the sounds of building. Our neighbor was getting a new outside staircase built and the carpenters start early around here. Okay, 8 isn’t that early, but for me it is.
Okay, getting back to the pounding. I grew up in housing developments. My parents built a house when I was five and the whole neighborhood was a new developement. After our house and the court was built, not long after the open land behind our houses became another developement. So pounding was pretty common. Along with that, I’ve lived in other areas where there was building.
Plus my father worked in the lumber business, the family company being a wholesale lumber yard. Building and wood is in the genes and I have a fine appreciation for lumber and wood. So, building, and the sounds of building take me right back to when I was a young girl. It’s amazing how I miss that sound.
The second sound was yesterday. Ah, Superbowl. I hate football. Never really appreciated the game. Well, despite that, I watched the whole game yesterday, (Go Giants!) (yeah, yeah, I still have teams I root for even if I don’t like the game. I just have this thing against Tom Brady. Sue me). All four hours of the game, and it was actually really enjoyable. I actually enjoyed the game. The sound that took me back though, was the ref’s whistle.
I heard it at some point in the game and even though I had been hearing it, that one time was like that moment in Ratatouille when Anton Ego takes the bite of ratatouille and Whoosh! He’s taken back to when he was a child. Yup, that was me.
Ever holiday my family would gather at my grandparents house. And all the holidays have a game on. Especially Thanksgiving. The game was always on as my grandfather is a big football fan, and my uncles always watched it too. My cousins (girls), sister and I would try to watch the game. We’d pull out these giant corduroy pillows my grandmother had made, pile them on the floor in front of the tv, and try to understand what the heck was going on. I never figured it out, and even now I spit out really bizzare things that my parents shake their heads at.
But the sound I remember the most was the whistles. Maybe all the teams blurred into one. Maybe all the years and games just are one big blur, clearly it is that way, and all I remember are the sounds of the whistles.
It’s a good sound. I can bring it back now just thinking about it. Same as the pounding of wood. They are familiar sounds.
I forgot how much I missed them.