Barbara Johnson
A long time ago I found new words for something I loved to do. I was nine years old and a newcomer to Canada. My family left Paraguay in October of 1952 and we older siblings began going to school almost as soon as we arrived. We attended a country school near Didsbury, Alberta, located within walking distance of the farm house we rented that first year. My mother's cousin was our teacher and she spoke our mother tongue (Plautdietsch = Low German), so it should have been a gentle easing into the culture and language. I just remember being very confused by it all. I had finished Grade Two (in German) and was an excellent reader, but when my teacher asked me to recite the alphabet in German I couldn't do it. She decided to put me into Grade Two.
Although I didn't say much, I observed and listened. At recess I heard the children saying two words over and over again. I really wanted to know what these words meant but I couldn't figure it out. The two words were "let's pretend."
I thought my younger sister and I (we are 22 months apart) were in this together, but as I stood there, concentrating on these strange words, I saw a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. It was my sister, running home as fast as her legs could carry her. She had disappeared into the ditch at the side of the schoolyard and all I could see was the top of her head. She had enough of "let's pretend," she was done with it all!
I decided not to go after her. When I got home from school, she was still hiding under the bed. I don't remember what I did to coax her out but eventually she emerged and the next day we trudged off again, braving the cold wind and the strange new world in which we found ourselves.
It wasn't long until I learned many new words that enriched my life and "let's pretend" became part of my vocabulary as well. My cousin, my sister and I spent many hours pretending we were grown up and building our own home as we happily wallpapered chicken coops with homemade paste and left-over wallpaper our aunt gave us; or played on the large front porch pretending it was a huge ship and we were sailing the ocean. We never ran out of ideas, and at our cousin's place we could play all day long without being bothered by younger siblings or chores our mother had waiting for us.
I also distinctly recall the day when the words "let's pretend" no longer held any joy for me. I wanted to play with my sister who was having a tea party with our dolls but it wasn't fun any longer. Making paper dolls from the Eaton's catalogue wasn't appealing any more either. For me it was not a gradual easing into adulthood but rather a painful departure from the world of imagination to the world of reality. The imaginary world attracted me more but I could no longer lose myself in it.
I solved the problem by delving into the world of books. Here I could vicariously enjoy what other people imagined and put into words. It was the grown-up game of "let's pretend." My cousin and my sister were two years younger than I and they couldn't understand my sudden retreat. I had become more quiet and introspective. I began to write poetry and novels. My inner life became a safe haven in the more threatening outside world.
It wasn't long until I learned many new words that enriched my life and "let's pretend" became part of my vocabulary as well. My cousin, my sister and I spent many hours pretending we were grown up and building our own home as we happily wallpapered chicken coops with homemade paste and left-over wallpaper our aunt gave us; or played on the large front porch pretending it was a huge ship and we were sailing the ocean. We never ran out of ideas, and at our cousin's place we could play all day long without being bothered by younger siblings or chores our mother had waiting for us.
I solved the problem by delving into the world of books. Here I could vicariously enjoy what other people imagined and put into words. It was the grown-up game of "let's pretend." My cousin and my sister were two years younger than I and they couldn't understand my sudden retreat. I had become more quiet and introspective. I began to write poetry and novels. My inner life became a safe haven in the more threatening outside world.
My mother made sure I didn't lose myself completely. I was the oldest daughter of eight children, and she needed my help in the house. Reluctantly I dragged my feet into her mundane world of dishes and diapers, always more than happy to leave it again.
The happiest place, of course, was that childhood world of the imagination, when we could be anything we wanted to be or do anything we wanted to do. Sometimes I can almost return to it now, through a smell or a sound that was part of my world then. The pungent aroma of the stem of a fresh tomato plucked from the garden reminds me of Tante Sarah and her "Boklezhane" (which is one of my favorite words and means tomatoes in Russian -- I always thought it was a Low German word!). Dunking a Zwieback in a cup of coffee can take me back there as well. We used roasted Kefir grains with plenty of milk as a substitute for coffee in Paraguay. We soaked chunks of bread in our "coffee," and when all the liquid was absorbed by the bread we turned it upside down on our saucer. With the addition of cinnamon and sugar it became a cake of sorts. "Arbus" (the Russian word for watermelon) also sends me down memory's path. I can see my mother, holding a baby, both of them eating watermelon, the red juice dripping down the baby's fat tummy.
Simple things made us happy in those days.
Backward, turn backward,
O time, in your flight,
Make me a child again
just for tonight!
Elizabeth Akers Allen
Elizabeth Akers Allen
This makes me want to go back in time ! Visiting with all the cousins in Calgary and sharing memories about our youth and all the "let's pretend" games we played we all wanted to go back in time just for a little while!
ReplyDeleteSo good you could have that visit. Sharing memories is a way of going back in time, isn't it?
DeleteYour writing is so wistful, Elfrieda. I feel the ache, the pull, of the life your family left behind. There is a powerful metaphorical parallel between the movement of your family from country to country and the movement through life from childhood to adulthood.
ReplyDeleteYou're right Carol, about the metaphor. I wasn't aware of it when I wrote it, which is kind of odd. Funny, how that works subconsciously at times!
DeleteElfrieda, this is your best writing yet. Beautiful. The theme of "let's pretend" expands to fill all the stages of your life. Carol's word "wistful" is just right. It's hard to be wistful without being sentimental, but you pull it off!
ReplyDeleteI'm relieved to hear you say it's not sentimental! I was a little worried about that.Thanks for your encouragement, Shirley.
ReplyDeleteThank you for directing me to your blog. I must have visited here and I see I'm listed as a follower, but I don't get notifications - perhaps because your platform is Blogspot and not Wordpress.
ReplyDeleteLines I especially enjoyed were these; I solved the problem by delving into the world of books. Here I could vicariously enjoy what other people imagined and put into words. It was the grown-up game of "let's pretend." That was my escape too as a child.
Much sensory enjoyment here and I feel your being pulled between two worlds, the carefree child and the evolving, more responsible adult. Also, I had not seen the Elizabeth Akers Allen poem before, one which dovetails with the one by Macneice. Thank you, Elfrieda!
So glad you were able to find the post. It certainly dovetails with yours, doesn't it? Will have to see about how to get notification to you. Can you send me your email address? I have a notification list and let people know that way.
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