My Favorite Place – Disneyland
I can see, I can hear, I can feel in my favorite place, Disneyland.
My shell is gray like a cobblestone path in England laying way out there in the orange-yellow sand.
It is small, it is special, like an old coin yet more precious to me than taters with a sirloin.
My shell is a shallow cup that could hold a pool of water.
I can just imagine a miniature creature playing in it- maybe an otter.
It has ridges just like mountain peaks sneaking over a cloud, and it is a beauty that doesn’t need to shout out loud.
My shell is appealing to beachcomber like heads are to a hunter.
My shell is appealing like scoring points are to a punter.
It is a miniature pyramid stolen from Egypt, yet with tropic flair, and while I hold it in my palm now, I haven’t a care.
Writing on a Theme
If a person is not content as a child, it is doubtful that they will be satisfied when they grow older. They will continually be on a search for a feeling of fullness, like a person after a sub-par Thanksgiving dinner. This is why my dominant impression of childhood is contentment. I don’t have to look for a lost childhood because I had a good one, stuffed with Barbie dolls and stuffed toys. As I kid, I had a lot of time to play-act with my sister and parents and tons of laughs. My good memories, when stacked up, would tower over the unpleasant ones. Three specific places where I had such good times were in my bedroom, in the family room, and at the kitchen table. I did wonderful things at these places with my family. This is why my dominant impression of childhood is contentment.
In my bedroom, my parents transported me to new worlds with their voices by reading my sister and I bedtime stories. Bam! With an opening of a cover we slammed into James Herriot, a smelly man since he is a veterinarian. Odors of dirty dogs and horse manure isn’t like roses and fruit candy. There we met all his creatures, great and small, and could almost taste the disgusting lard we had to down in order to please Herriot’s host. My mom and dad also read Dr. Seuss stories where we met one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, and took us to Make Way For Ducklings, pick Blueberries For Sal, and spend One Morning in Maine.
Our bedroom wasn’t the only location for fun. The loud crunch of pretzels echoed in another place-of-adventure-and-excitement… the family room. Here we watched the Marx Brothers’ movies while sitting cramped together on the worn and comfortable baby-blue armchair that my mother used to nurse us in when we were very young. The spaghetti in one of their movies called A Night at the Opera, was like a bugle call that alerted our taste buds that we needed that food for dinner. The TV was a luring net into a place where the character Groucho could make comments that wouldn’t be appropriate in the real world.
The kitchen is the final place that stands out as a room of contentment for me as a child. At the hard wooden table that was smooth to the touch, my sister and I spent countless hours creating. Our pencils danced and frolicked all over landscapes of pure, plain, white paper. We took our gel pens, sharpies, and stickers and got busy making cards and gifts for our parents for every occasion from birthdays to Christmas to Easter to “just because.” They spend so much time with us and give us so much, it is the least we could and can do. While we made things, my sister and I chit-chatted about this and that, having a jolly old time of it.
Due to the good times I had, this is why my dominant impression of childhood is contentment. Not everything has been perfect, but as a child growing up, my paradise was right in my own home. I dreaded going to school, and my sister and I never hung out at the mall or beach- home was the place for us. And there are no better rooms in my house for finding contentment than the bedroom, family room, and kitchen. This is where I can be with the different members of my family and spend some good quality time to build memories of utter satisfaction.