When I was young I had a Tonka dump truck, that, when I carefully kneeled, I could fit into the box of. It’s width and length were perfect for my small, bent legs to fit in to. The cool metal feel of it while it first touched my skin; the scratched and flaking yellow paint; the clumsy plastic wheels loping along the brown carpet of the hallway as I pulled myself along. It all added up to an insignificantly wonderful experience. It didn’t seem like a big deal when I couldn’t fit in it anymore, though I would still try to wedge myself in. Now it seems like a big deal that I ever DID fit in the Tonka truck. I’ve seen them at other people’s homes and in kids’ rooms during my adult life and have been wowed by their size compared to my own.
The Tonka truck probably arrived as a birthday present when I was 3; 4 maybe. Today I've turned 27 years old; I have no regrets though
I’d love to wedge back into that truck box;
to crawl into my mother’s lap;
to climb short trees and feel as though I were suspended in space;
to be happiest when I have candy;
to be fascinated by bugs and rocks and…;
to be unaware of the limits of my own yard or the woods behind the house;
to sit, three-wide, with my sisters in a chair;
to be soooo excited about tomorrow;
to love visiting grandma’s house;
to stay up late, watching MASH with my parents, then fake sleep so I can be carried up to bed;
to be tucked in, kissed, and easily loved
Let’s go back to that time. Someone, with me - Let’s go back to that time please.
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1 comment:
I'll go back too...I feel like I'm there already, thanks for bringing me back. You have a way with words and make it so easy for someone to go on an adventure in your stories. It was fun being carried to bed wasn't it...I didn't realized that you did that too! :)
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