That Memory Place

I have a poor memory.  It's something that has bothered me for a while now.  I don't remember names and I don't remember specific every day events, and on occasion I don't even remember the context of certain conversations.  And lately I've been thinking a lot about my childhood.  For the longest time I didn't remember specific events from my childhood that siblings remembered; old family friends, etc.  It has bothered me for so long and on a level that caused discomfort.

Today, I had the crazy idea to look up an old childhood home on Google Maps from when I lived in Missouri.  Have you all played around with Google Maps?  If you have, then you know of the awesomness of it all.  I don't remember street names.  I just remember random facts, but today I started with a small ghost-like town I lived in name Mayview Missouri.  It's tiny.  As of the year 2000, the census reported a grand total of 294 people who reside in this town.  I don't remember it being that big... maybe it was, but to me it was big in a different way.

What I remember.  Mayview felt excluded from other areas.  It is nestled between Lexingoton, Bluesprings, and Odessa (if memory serves me correctly) and I remember going to the Wentworth Military Academy to go swimming.  People would practice their scuba diving at the bottom of the deep end of the pool and I would inch my way down there, clinging to the wall, so that I could dunk my head under water and watch them; sometimes they would wave at me which would make me laugh so hard.

I lived at the bottom of a hill and from the bottom of the hill a long road (turns out it's name is Long Road... imagine that) stretched forth before you and it made me feel like Dorothy  when she was trying to find her way back to her aunt's at the beginning of the storm... I just knew that it had to have led somewhere pretty spectacular, but I don't know if I knew that it just led to another town.  It was a road we would drive often.  At the top of the hill was Pastor White's home... I think that was the family name.  His home shared the property with the Baptist Church and across from the Baptist church was another church; I want to say it was Catholic... I remember a giant cross out front.  Every Sunday the two churches would open their doors wide and try to out-sing each other.  at least that's what it sounded like because the music would progressively get louder and louder.  One summer, my mother signed me up to practice with the Baptist choir, I don't know why she did this.  I'm thinking maybe it was for some summer structure; I don't know.  All I remember was that at the tender age of 7 I realized that I lacked severely in rhythm and that singing was a way to praise God, "probably the best way" I remember thinking.  We sang this song about not going in the water... okay, I just found the song on Google (got to love The Google, it knows everything).  It's called "Wade in the Water" and it's a negro-spiritual and the below video is a youtube video with this song, and it's done beautifully.

And I remember the pastor was pounding the crap out of the piano he was playing on with one hand while leading the choir of children, which I was a part of.  I remember it was alarming but also the coolest thing I'd ever experienced up to, and including that moment.

Where am I going with this?  I guess I just had a cool experience on Google Maps.  All I remembered, structurally, from this town was these 2 churches.  When I looked them up on the map, I couldn't find them and so I just started playing around with the street view.  Thankfully, Mayview isn't that big so it didn't take long to figure out where I was and where I wanted to be.  I found the childhood home I lived in while I lived in Mayview.  It was weird and awesome.  Everything is so different.  All the boarded up and condemned buildings that were there 20 years ago, I didn't see any sight of them.  It was just houses.  And the home I lived in, all the roses were gone.  We had so many roses.  That was the home that I never turned 7 in.  What that means is technically I never had my 7th birthday.  I kept getting sick for all the reschedules, so it just never happened.  I don't say that in a hurt way, I say that in the way that it will become handy when I'm turning 40 and I can still say that I'm technically 39.  How's that for thinking outside the box?

On Google Maps, I went through the streets one by one and specific family homes stood out to me.  Like the home of one of my friends.  I think her name was Anna (I was only 6 at the time).  Looking back on all of it, I'm pretty sure her family were Ozarks people... and if you know anything about the South, you know what that means (smiling and nodding head), not to say that Missouri is the south or deep south for that matter, but it's south enough :)

I remember my friend Timmy.  He made a big deal out of me being white (laughing out loud).  Yeah, in Missouri I was the minority and it was a great experience for me in more ways than one.  He was a bigger black kid and my dear friend.  As was Xane (Zane).  We were buddies and we would play tag at recess.  We would also play in this carriage-jungle-gym thingie on the playground.  It was a carriage.  We wouldn't play princess stuff though... I was never the damsel in distress, that was my friend Tonya.  She was the damsel in distress, and I was one of the thieves along with Xane and Timmy.  We were merciless in our plunderings.  They would also climb trees with me and we would hide and plan our next attack on the carriage.  We weren't supposed to climb the trees on the school property, but that never stopped us.  It's fun to remember this stuff.  

I guess the reason this is such a big moment for me and one I'm blogging about is because Missouri was a huge part of my childhood and one I cherish and miss.  And also, so much can change in 1 year... and it was truly shocking to see how much more can change in 20 years.  It feels like it was another life.  Also, my perception has changed from just 1 year ago.  For the longest time when I would think about Missouri, the main thing that would stick out in my mind was the horrible teacher I had in the first grade who would belittle me and humiliate me on a near daily basis, in front of the rest of class, simply for being Mormon.  That was a horrible experience and that was the one I always remembered.  Now I remember Xane and Timothy and Tonya.  I remember Ms. Moorhead who was the coolest teacher I've ever had.  She was the first teacher I respected; I was in the 3rd. grade.  

Perception is so interesting.  It changes as swiftly as the temperament of the person whom it belongs to.  Mrs. Allenbaugh was the name of my 1st grade teacher who was extremely horrible to me and I held on to a lot of anger towards her for years.  I don't anymore.  In a way, I guess I'm grateful for her.  I think it's in gratitude that we forgive and are able to move forward in life.  I've said it before, and I say it again, my mission in this life is to learn all I can about unconditional love.  Mrs. Allenbaugh taught me a valuable lesson about love; it is that no matter how different someone is from you, or the things they believe, or the practices they enact and preach, they are deserving of love.  Even if they don't meet the expectations or qualifications or standard of life that you require... they deserve your love.  Furthermore, love is not your's to withhold from those who don't behave in accordance with your ideals and values.  We are all creations of something much bigger and Christian law warns us against judging others.  She taught me that love is not something that is used to judge.  She taught me that love is not a tool used to accept or deny a human being because they are different from you.  I would not have been able to learn this valuable lesson had it not been for Mrs. Allenbaugh.  And so, in letting go of the anger I've wasted on this woman for so many years, I express my gratitude out into the cosmos in the form of good karma.  I hold no ill-will towards this woman anymore.  I have better things to exert my energy and time upon.  

I miss Missouri.  I hope to re-visit it one day.  I hope to one day re-visit my old childhood homes and favorite climbing trees.  More than that, though, I hope that my future children will be blessed enough to grow up in an environment where they have free-reign over their imaginations and adventures.  I hope that I can offer that kind of freedom to my future children.  That's something worth striving for.