Children Don’t Forget

I wondered who the caller was when my phone’s ringtone pierced through the air that sunny morning. After the usual pleasantries, my sister went straight to the point. Part of the reason she called was to tell me about the demise of an old auntie and the funeral arrangements.

As she related the tales that surrounded my aunt’s life and death I couldn’t help myself. I half-listened half-thinking of the last time I saw my aunt.

The aunt in question was a distant cousin to my father. I grew up with dozens of aunts and uncles whole spaces on my family tree were difficult to locate. However, as part of the family rules, everyone was family and deserved equal treatment.

I felt no emotion to the news nor the rambling at the other end of the call. I was indifferent and I couldn’t pretend to care. In my aunt’s case, I felt nothing.

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The Stories I heard

I don’t recall reading bedtimes stories when growing up, but, I recall interesting stories that were told.

I remember the conversations I heard as a little girl to the folktales shared by families, neighbours and friends. Part of me contains songs, poetries and the vivid images of scary monsters painted to scare.

Imaginary plays, make-believes and visits to relatives occupied most of the summer holidays. With foods and songs, long lost friends who came around to visit each having a story to tell.

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My Preteen Standoffishness

I had my little girl when I was in my early 30s. A year and a few days after my first wedding anniversary. For me, it was love before sight. I was ready to be a mum before she came along, I loved being around kids and she fitted in snugly for me.

It was easy when she arrived, though, we struggled financially, but, she was one of those kids who are satisfied with little. The difficulty we were in was not accentuated by her needs. She fed well and was full of life, all she ever wanted was being around her family.

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