Self-reflections (Part 2)

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When I was old enough, I started to go to kindergarten. My mother often began work early in the mornings, and then she would drive me and my brother there. I loved that place. I am quite sure my memories of it are authentic, because the older kids I remember from that time seem to have been so tall and so grown-up, even though they logically couldn’t have been older than seven, which is the age when children begin ‘real’ school in Sweden. 2

 The kindergarten grounds consisted of what seemed to me at the time to be a vast garden and a big grey one-story house. There was an abundance of toys, dolls, games, children’s books and outdoor toys to play with. Every section of the house had its own kitchen, dinner table and play room while the yard was common ground. The teachers had a coffee room in one end of the building. One of my favourite occupations was to try to sneak in there and steal cookies without getting caught. 3

  The gym was full with giant pillows we built small houses from and jumped into. One part of the house was reserved for children with impaired hearing or mental dysfunctions. We were always afraid of them, because some were a lot older than seven, and they often got unexpected anger outbursts, which was why they were kept separate from the other children. Looking back, I don’t see why deaf children should be kept with mentally challenged violent children, but at that time it was the way things were done.4

  I had some friends I played with. We were usually all friends, except for the occasional fight over toys. However, there was one child I remember. He was one of the oldest children, and infamous for being a bully. I still have the feeling of being scared of him, and the image in my mind is of a tall boy with curly blonde hair. 5

  Time in kindergarten went by without any major events. I have always been a very curious person, and that got me in trouble already at that age. The most dramatic thing that ever happened in kindergarten was one day when I had decided that crawling under a wooden little chair was a good idea. Unfortunately I got myself so tangled into the chair that they had to saw me loose from it. 6

 The afternoons I spent at home, often visiting an older couple who lived in the apartment beneath us. They had an old Golden Retriever called Lady, and sometimes they would let me walk her around the block. Even though I was so little it was relatively safe, because Lady was a very calm dog who never made an effort to run away or play with other dogs. I was so proud, holding the big plastic handle with both hands in order not to drop it. Ever since that time, my campaign to get my own dog started. Every birthday and every Christmas I wished so hard for a dog of my own, but I never got one. My father was allergic, and the times he was home it wasn’t possible to keep a dog there. I don’t think my mother was too keen on the responsibility either. 7

  Just before my fifth birthday, my grandmother took me with her to Mallorca. She travelled a lot in her work, and she would often take me with her on her trips. I was so happy to have her all to myself.  I still recall the beach, and my pink air mattress. I loved paddling far out in the water, too far according to my grandmother. To teach me a lesson, she once turned my mattress upside down in the water. I can still feel the panic, looking up at her legs and the light, but not being able to get there. The water only reached her to her waist, but I couldn’t reach the bottom and I couldn’t swim either. After that lesson I never swam too far out again, ever. 8

  The summer before my sixth birthday we moved some blocks to a bigger apartment. While my parents took care of the moving, my brother and I stayed with my grandmother. There was nothing she loved more than taking care of her daughter’s children, and we loved being with her. She let us stay up late, she bought us so much candy that we often got sick from eating too much of it, and she played with us. She cooked the most delicious food, and baked fresh bread. My grandmother was only 19 when she had my mother, so she was very young compared to other children’s grandparents. I was positively convinced she would live forever. I was very lucky in that sense, because I got to know all my grandparents and even one of my great grandmothers. There is a picture of her, my grandmother, my mother and me. Four generations in one picture. I’m named after my great grandmothers, and I’m quite proud over that. I think I might continue that tradition when I get children of my own.9

  My mother’s parents got divorced when I was two years old. It was quite an ugly divorce, because my grandfather had met a younger woman. This made my grandmother very bitter, but they had been divorced mentally for a long time before it ever got on paper. Both of them worked in the travel business, my grandfather at a travel company, and my grandmother as a travel guide and sight-seeing guide. 10

  Every birthday party there was a fight over who would get to come; my grandmother, or my grandfather and his new wife. Usually they came all three, or my grandfather’s wife would stay home, just to make things easier. They would then sit at separate tables, and refuse to talk to each other. Sometimes they would argue in front of all the guests. This was all very hard on my mother, who tried to make them act civilized for her sake but to no avail. Finally she got so angry that she said if they couldn’t behave for some hours, she didn’t want either of them to come. My parents even had a fight over all of this, and that is the first and last tie I have ever seen my parents argue with each other. I remember my mother got so angry she threw my bike helmet on the ground so it broke. I told her to be careful with it, because I really loved my bike and I wouldn’t be able to ride it without the helmet. My mother then burst out, and I got so scared I took my little brother with me and hid under the bed with him, where I thought we would be safe. My father looked for us after my mother left, and I clearly recall how he had tears in his eyes when he bent down to talk to us under the bed and asked us to please come out. The tears almost scared me more than the previous shouting, because fathers don’t cry, and if my father was crying something must be very wrong. Finally, we agreed to come out, and eventually my mother came home and they made up.11

  After the divorce was through, my grandmother sold the house and moved to an apartment on the outskirts of town, and this was where my brother and I stayed while my parents were moving. After a few days, we got to move in. I was thrilled, because now my brother and I had one play room and one bed room, and we didn’t have to clean up the toys every night. Eventually I got the upstairs room and my brother the downstairs room, but in the beginning we shared bedroom. My parents slept upstairs outside my room. It was a big two-floor apartment with a penthouse. Our upper floor was what used to be the attic, and it had big wooden beams and windows in the tilting ceiling. 12

  Not long after the moving it was time for me to start school.13

To be continued…14