IT'S HARD to believe that I'll be turning 20 this August.
It feels like only a few days past since I was this short-haired kid
who kept on jotting any idea he thought on a piece of paper; who felt
such an irresistible desire to doodle when not writing; who'd read
and collect a good bunch of comics. You'd think that it's some kind
of irrepressible joke that Time herself concocted.
I've never experienced what you would call an "innocent,"
or moderated, childhood. My parents always saw to it that my questions
are answered--or if they themselves did not know, they would point
me to the dictionary or encyclopedia. They would never set a restriction,
unless it has an obvious potential of causing hurt. It's quite a convenient
kind of childhood, I think.
There have been some embarrassing moments--but then again, everybody
experiences that, don't we? (And I have a feeling these "embarrassments"
would keep on chasing us, but that's alright, it usually makes us
better people in the end. Usually.)
Some people would so casually dismiss these memories as a fallacy,
a kind of morbid wet dream that defies our sense of reality, or importance.
They are mistaken, though, for these so-called "fallacies"
are more real than the memory of a past love life--or something. They
hold more substance than the beaker of vari-colored "dreams"
that fill our stale days at present. They are not some perverted Mr.
Hyde arrived at by adding two and two in Dr. Jekyll's insane formula.
They are not to be dismissed, or turned upon, or feared.
George Macdonald--among other famous writers of his time, like Charles
Dickens, Lewis Caroll, and Robert Louis Stevenson--cherished these
memories. He always believed that childhood is one of the most important
phases of human existence. These ideas are seen clearly in three of
his books: The Princess and the Goblin, The Princess and Curdie, and
At the Back of the North Wind. And C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia
are also full of these wonderful thoughts.
So why dismiss, fear, or turn upon childhood? People dismiss it because
they feel uneasy amongst the company of such memories (or they just
want to look "cool," or "in," by "growing-up"
quickly). Those who forget it end up quite pathetically. (They're
the ones we usually call "pricks," "dick-heads,"
"f--ing bastards," and many other colorful names that would
probably spoil the integrity of my column if mentioned here.)
Others fear their childhood because of an unpleasant occurrence.
Many have been abused by their relatives. That's understandable for
the first few moments, but it does not do to waste your life moping
about it. Make a move. Do whatever you think is needed to face the
monster that you fear. You can even kill the abusers, if it makes
you feel any better--but let's not dwell on that and other possible
alternatives of the sort. I'm still too young to be living behind
bars, drinking urine, and eating months-old food.
So the point is--put simply--that you can only be a true adult if
you remember your childhood. Those who so casually dismiss it are
dirtier than the greenest sewer, and dynamically uglier than an accident
of birth.
