I grow old… I grow old…
I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled
~ T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Hmmm, when I reach the ripe old age where appearances no longer matter and I wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, will I spend my days reclaiming simplicity lost?
More and more often I find myself taking mental journeys to the simpler days of my childhood. I was born and raised in a small town, and yet there was an endless store of interesting and uncomplicated things to do.
Picking wild strawberries, or catching grasshoppers in a jar with air holes punched in the lid, in the meadow in the vacant corner lot a stone’s throw down the street.
Crossing the railroad tracks to catch tadpoles in Brook Pond and bring them home in the hopes that they would transform into frogs in a pail in the basement.
Collecting chestnuts from the sidewalk on Main Street, polishing them to a high sheen and boring holes through them with a screwdriver to make a chestnut necklace,
Going for a ride, on my bike retrofitted with high handle bars and a banana seat and missing spokes in the wheels, for no other reason than because it was a carefree act of independence.
Shooting baskets at the public school basketball court with whoever happened to be around and not otherwise engaged at the time.
Playing street hockey with the gang with a tennis ball for a puck, a baseball mitt for a goalie glove and Canadian Tire mesh nets that always materialized from somewhere.
A pick-up game of football in the public school yard where the score mattered less than hanging out with friends and competing for bragging rights.
The common denominators in all of these activities: we were always outside, they did not cost a penny, the could all be done within a half hour from home and our parents never ever worried where we were or what trouble we might be getting into.
Yes, these are the liberties of childhood where responsibilities are few and time is a surplus commodity. Adulthood robs us of these privileges which seemed in the moment to have no price tag or expiry date. I concede that we all must grow past such unencumbered times.
Nevertheless, each and every one of these pursuits stands as a metaphor for a bygone era when fun was deceptively simple, fresh air was the only medicine we needed and endless summer days seemed a gift from heaven.
When I grow old and wear my trousers rolled, and my mind begins to wander, I hope it finds its way back to this lost time of simplicity. If it does, please do not rescue me. Just smile, touch my hand and leave me be.
~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.
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Tags: innocence · metaphor · Michael Robert Dyet · simplicity · The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock · tTS. EliotNo Comments