What is a childhood without dreams?

Before I blogged about my childhood dreams, I had a discussion with my husband about the subject; he gave me what I consider to be one of the saddest statements I've ever heard: he said, "I don't remember having any dreams when I was a kid."

Now I have to tell you, Cliff's family gave new meaning to the word "dysfunctional". I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, and his parents did the best they knew how with the resources they had, I'm sure. It's just that Cliff was the oldest child in the house, and he got stuck, many times, with being in charge. He grew up being part of a family that moved "every time the rent came due", as he puts it. He knew what it was like to go to the door and tell a bill collector that his parents weren't home, when they were. It was too much responsibility for one so young. Cliff only saw one way of life, growing up; and he assumed it was the only way. He had no way of knowing that he could choose to get out of that rut.

An illustration of things that destroyed any hope for him: He started working at a young age, and when he was sixteen, he wanted a motorcycle. So his parents signed for him, and he got an old Harley on credit. He was making his payments just fine, but his mom and dad took bankruptcy. Of course the motorcycle was lost in the deal.

When we first got married, I said something about how we ought to start looking for a house to buy; Cliff thought I was nuts. His parents had once tried owning a home, and they lost it before much time passed. Home ownership, to him, was an impossible dream. Something for people far richer than we were.

I can't imagine what it would be like to be a kid with no hopes and dreams, nothing more than just "getting through this day".

Today I pray for the children, all over the world, who have no opportunity to dream. Those who have had their childhoods stolen from them.

And I thank God that my parents gave me a childhood. I'm not so sure it's ended, even yet!

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Childhood dreams

A man named Randy Pausch (pictured above) was recently brought to my attention, thanks to a blogger who happened to see him on Oprah and wrote about him. I googled his name and found several interesting and inspiring things on the web by him, and about him. I read with interest his "Last Lecture" transcript, which is all about "really achieving your childhood dreams". So I reached far back into my store of memories and asked myself, "What were my childhood dreams?"

Turns out they were pretty darned simple. I've only been able to remember four:

1. I wanted a horse.
2. I wanted some babies.
3. I wanted a farm with some woods I could wander around in.
4. I wanted to be an Indian.

1. I don't know what made me want a horse so badly; perhaps it was the old cowboy-and-Indian comic books I read with a passion. Roy Rogers and Dale Evans (my heroes) had horses, you know. I remember crying myself to sleep after being told there was no way I could have a pony. Obviously, that dream has come true.

2. I was never much of a kid to play with dolls. But one year, I think around Christmas-time, my brother and his family came to visit. His wife, Wilma, had just had a baby boy. Because we had company in the house and they were occupying my bed, I was sleeping on a hide-a-bed in the living room. One morning Wilma came into the living room as I was still lying in bed and laid that brand-new infant, Ronnie, down beside me; something about the faint, tiny sounds he made, and his sweet breath on my cheek, made me want babies so badly I could taste it. I was perhaps seven or eight years old at the time. For a few months after that, I played with dolls, imagining they were my babies. As a teenager, I even fancied myself having a dozen babies, and I made lists of names for all of them. After having two, I realized I wasn't equipped to handle that big a tribe of children. In fact, I've often had doubts about how well I raised the ones I had. Anyhow, my baby dream came true.

3. Growing up, I spent considerable time at my grandma's forty acres, as well as at Uncle Leo's farm, right up the road from her. I'm sure this inspired my dream of owning a similar place. But what firmly set the dream in my mind was a brief spell, after the local switchboard (our family livelihood) closed, when we lived on what seemed like our own farm. Daddy was hired farm-hand for Glen Wyant, on whose place we lived; and Mother went to work at a local dry-goods and grocery store. I suppose we were there for less than a year, but it was the happiest time of my life. With both parents working all day, I was on my own to play with kittens in the barn, pick wild strawberries and blackberries, and pretend to be an Indian in the woods. Sometimes I'd sneak up to the fence-line and feed sugar to Glen's pinto horse, longing to ride him. Once I sneaked up there with some other kid (I don't recall who) and attempted to get on him. Glen's wife, Opal, could see us from her house and yelled for us to get out of there. But I digress.

We moved to Kansas City, and I mourned the loss of our farm home. I prayed for a place of my own like the Wyant place. My mother saved this poem I wrote as a twelve-year-old, homesick for the country:


Cliff and I are living on the second property in our lifetime that fits that description. The living-in-the-country dream came true.

4. That leaves the dream of being an Indian. OK, I got over that one, having realized you can't "become" a native American. But Randy Pausch says this, in his speech: "At a certain point you just realize there are some things you are not going to do, so maybe you just want to stand close to the people." I guess that's what I'm doing back at the cabin when I listen to Floyd Westerman, and numerous authentic Native American music CD's.

One way or another, I have achieved all of my childhood dreams. How many people can say that?



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