My Perfect Childhood

What's wrong with me?  I frequently find myself mulling that question over in my head.  I've met a number of people through mental health services who have been exposed to seriously traumatic events as children.  I had the most wholesome, fun, amazing childhood.  From birth up until I hit 13 and met the evil that is hormones I was so happy.

My mother has since told me they did think I was a little 'odd' as a child, preferring to sit alone in my room for hours working on projects than spending time playing with other children.  During a meeting with a psychiatrist, she recalled how I once spent around 3 days in my bedroom, and had banned anyone from entering so as not to spoil the surprise.  When I finally invited her and the rest of the family along to the debut opening of my creation I had constructed a to-scale model of the Taj Mahal using kitchen roll and loo roll tubes, boxes and any other scraps I could lay my hands on.  Apparently I spent a lot of time playing alone.

I recall my childhood a little differently.  I knew I was an anxious child from being very little.  I used to lie awake at night, fighting sleep, just incase the fire alarm went off and I had to alert everyone to save them from dying.  I would run the event over and over in my head.  I also used to secretly fret if someone wasn't home when they said they were going to be.  Of course, it was the time before mobile phones so a motor-way hold-up went unreported until eventually my father arrived home late. 

But then I recall my friendships.  I was never one to have "a best friend".  I used to think I had best friends, but in reality I would flit from group to group assuming I was everyones favourite friend.  In many respects I think I was very popular.  I got on well with girls and boys and always seemed to be at the centre of the fun and games.  Although initially shy, I would lavish as the centre of attention during childhood sleepovers and birthday parties.  I was slightly different around people I didn't know, especially if they were older, but then I think that's true for the majority.  On the whole, I usually found that people would warm to me very quickly.

I certainly wasn't introverted.  One of my favourite things about the weekend was Gladiators on a saturday night.  During the early nineties it was the X Factor of Saturday night viewing.  I always longed to be like the female Gladiators, with my all-time favorite being the blonde bombshell Lightening.  My sister preferred Jet.  Every Saturday after tea I would wait for the programme to start.  As the broadcaster announced that Gladiators was on next I began preparing myself in the dining room.  As soon as the theme tune blared out I sprung into action.  Cart-wheeling through the living room wearing a Minnie-Mouse crop top and pants I sang along to the tune; 'Do you feel the power of the gladiators?'.  Prancing around in front of my family, flicking my hair around, I used to really feel I was Lightening ready to take on and defeat the contestants.  My favourite event was Sky Track where the contestants would be chased around a track suspended from the ceiling.  It looked so dangerous, but so thrilling.  My next-door neighbour went to see a live show during the height of it's success on screen and she brought back with her a giant blue foam hand.  The sponge went through me when I put my hand inside but it was still fun to play around with it like the audience did during the shows.

My parents were always taking my sister and I out and about as children.  We went on many very happy caravanning holidays all over Britain, through Scandinavia and I recall numerous happy holidays in France.  I have a vague memory of my first time abroad, a day trip to France when I was about four or five.  I remember the excitement building up as we waited at Dover in a long line of cars for the ferry to begin boarding.  I remember reading a children's Noddy magazine and trying unrelentlessly to inflate the free balloon.  After what seemed like forever the queues of cars, vans, lorries and trucks of all shapes, sizes and colours started to creep forward.  Eventually it was our turn.  My dad started the engine.  Our mission was beginning.  We boarded the ferry and I remember feeling overwhelmed by this giant floating building which was supposedly going to take us all the way to a foreign land.  I'm sure I was as much in awe of this feat as the crew of  Apollo 11 would have been as they set off on their mission to the moon. 

My expectations of the boat were that of a navy ship, and I assumed we'd be sleeping in a room crowded with hammocks.  Of course in reality I climbed the metal stairs from the belly of the ship, which did resemble the sort of ships I'd seen in films with dull grey metal walls and a maze of pipes , up to the plush lounges and restaurants above.  There were even arcade games and a few shops.  I was completely in amazement of this wonderful, floating entertainment complex.  And to my utter surprise, we arrived in Calais in a matter of hours, not days, as I was expecting.

Aboard a French bus into the centre of Calais I remember shrugging my coat off my shoulders.  We visited during the Autumn and accordingly the climate was somewhat chillier than the tropical atmosphere I had envisioned.  My mum laughed along with another lady as she explained that "abroad" did not mean we would be frequenting a white sandy beach with palm trees in the middle of a crystal clear blue ocean.  Disappointed, I wrapped my coat back around me.  What we did for the rest of the day remains a blur.  In true family tradition a few stops at "booze" shops were made where crates of small green bottles were loaded into the boot.  I recall sitting in the back seat of the car with a crate of bottles in my foot well.  My legs were too little for it to affect my comfort.  The only other memory of that trip I recall was discovering that Smarties taste different in France.  The chocolate wasn't as nice, and the colouring was different.

My childhood was a text-book childhood filled with exciting adventures and trips.  Although my parents fell on the stricter side of the parenting spectrum they were always fair, and they always went out of their way to make sure we had structure and happiness in our lives.