It occurred to me recently that I really don't have an accurate idea of what I looked like as a child. The only pictures of little Rosie that exist are the very rare formal poses taken in a photographer's studio — as a toddler, with my parents ... in my First Communion dress ... my high school graduation portrait. Unlike today's average kid, whose every move is documented and posted on Facebook daily, there are no candids of me emerging from my mother's womb (thankfully), sleeping in my crib, splashing in my bath, crawling on the living room floor, playing with my teddy bear ...
Come to think of it, I never had a teddy bear — or any kind of stuffed animal. Today, when kids can't find their beds because they're buried under mountains of colorful critters, not having a single one would trigger a visit from Child Protective Services; but way back then, I guess it wasn't unusual because I don't recall feeling deprived. I had my dolls, after all. No, not a cache of Cabbage Patch Kids or a bevy of Barbies, but a beautiful Shirley Temple doll and a Betsy Wetsy, who drank from a bottle and wet her diaper (a marvel for that technologically unsophisticated era).
Not only do no candid shots of my infancy-through-teen years exist, I also have no pictures of my early houses or places I may have visited. When I say 'places' I mean mostly relatives' homes down the block and occasionally a carousel when a visiting carnival came to town. No Disney World. No water parks. No mini-golf courses. No ski resorts. No anywhere. The first time I left my native Massachusetts was when I was eighteen and a friend borrowed his father's car (a rare luxury) to take me for a ride to neighboring New Hampshire. Though I'm embarrassed to admit it, I was surprised when we crossed the state border to see that it looked just like Massachusetts. I actually expected to see an immediate dramatic demarcation. And I was supposed to be smart — an all 'A' student through school!
When I said the only pictures of my childhood were the few formal portraits taken in a photographer's studio, I forgot the annual school picture day ritual. Maybe I was subconsciously repressing the memory because mine were always a disaster, documenting my bad hair days (every day), my self-conscious half-smile, and my ungainly posture. Talk about that awkward stage! I'm hoping to outgrow it soon.
I also often wonder about the kind of clothes I had as a child. I know I never wore jeans because no one did, except maybe for kids who lived on farms and did 'chores.' (I always wondered what 'chores' were.) But did I ever wear slacks or shorts? Certainly not in any of my formal photos, and certainly not to school, at least on picture days. So since no evidence exists to the contrary, I can only assume that I wore ladylike dresses all the time, even when jumping rope or hiding and seeking. As for other play, I remember sledding in the winter and running through the sprinkler on hot, summer days; but I have no pictures of any of those activities. I also remember flying a kite with my daddy one breezy autumn afternoon ... walks to the library with my mom for my weekly allotment of beloved books ... pigging out on lasagna at family holiday feasts... How I wish we had captured those precious times on film.
I also regret that I don't have even one picture of Trixie, my adorable Spitz puppy, a seventh birthday gift from my big Uncle Al (I also had a little Uncle Al). Trixie was my constant companion for ten years until she went to doggy heaven, but I don't have a single snapshot of her — or either of my Uncle Als.
Maybe that explains my latter-day obsession with cameras. Some people never leave home without their American Express card. I never leave home without a camera. Digitized pictures of the twenty-five countries and forty-plus states of America that I've visited since my first tour of exotic New Hampshire constantly flash on my computer monitors and digital frames throughout my home, helping me relive the magic every day. The galleries on my tablet, iPod, and phone teem with images of everything and everyone I love. I was never blessed with children myself, but none of my relatives' kids are safe from my lens. They groan when they see me coming. They dive under beds and dash behind doors, providing some great action shots and videos. There’s no way to recapture my lost childhood, but I'll be damned if I will allow theirs to disappear!
Meanwhile, I'm making sure that my second childhood is well recorded. So if you’ll excuse me, it's time to take another 'Selfie'!
©2014 Rose Madeline Mula for SeniorWomen.com
Editor's Note: Rose Mula's most recent book, Grandmother Goose: Rhymes for a Second Childhood
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