Today I was looking through some old files on my computer, and I stumbled on this poem. It's a poem by Walt Whitman that we were assigned to put our own childhood memories into my junior year. And ohhhh man how it brings it all back when I read it. I can smell, taste, and see everything so clearly, and I can honestly say "thank you!" to my teacher who assigned this project!
There Was a Child Went Forth By Walt Whitman, adapted by Heather Block
There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object she look'd upon, that object she became;
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The blooming peonies became part of this child,
And grass, and damp fallen leaves, and white spongy mushrooms, and the red breast of the robin,
And the crawling ants, and the barking dogs, and the lightning bugs, and the loud cicadas,
And the cheers and yells of the playground, or the weedy ally by the house,
And the raised manhole that lived there--and the twisted growing vines,
And the knee-length brush--all became part of her.
The magnificent tree house of summer became part of her;
An old knarly tree, and fresh-smelling wood, and the squeaky metal hinge of the trapdoor,
And the snowball bushes cover'd with green buds, and the big white puffs afterwards,
and wrought-iron fences, and the gravel on the side of the road;
And the cute old couple next door, weeding their garden, until the wife died and only the husband left,
And the boys and girls on their way to public school,
And the short-haired girl with her golden retriever,
And the family riding their bikes--and the family walking their dog,
And all the joys of a small neighborhood, wherever we went.
Her own parents,
He that had fathered her, and she that had held her in her abdomen, and birthed her,
They gave this child more of themselves than that;
They gave her afterward every day--they became part of her.
The mother at home, teaching her children and keeping her house;
The mother with loving words—read a bedtime story, pray and give a kiss,
her dark red lipstick leaving a mark;
The father, fun, expectant, protective, loving, silly, just;
The hug, the three words, the guiding, the constant involvement,
The dank basement, the French doors, the chandelier, the orange chair--the fireplace with the old tan hearth,
Affection that was never-ending—hugs and kisses and always an encouraging word
And the first object she look'd upon, that object she became;
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The blooming peonies became part of this child,
And grass, and damp fallen leaves, and white spongy mushrooms, and the red breast of the robin,
And the crawling ants, and the barking dogs, and the lightning bugs, and the loud cicadas,
And the cheers and yells of the playground, or the weedy ally by the house,
And the raised manhole that lived there--and the twisted growing vines,
And the knee-length brush--all became part of her.
The magnificent tree house of summer became part of her;
An old knarly tree, and fresh-smelling wood, and the squeaky metal hinge of the trapdoor,
And the snowball bushes cover'd with green buds, and the big white puffs afterwards,
and wrought-iron fences, and the gravel on the side of the road;
And the cute old couple next door, weeding their garden, until the wife died and only the husband left,
And the boys and girls on their way to public school,
And the short-haired girl with her golden retriever,
And the family riding their bikes--and the family walking their dog,
And all the joys of a small neighborhood, wherever we went.
Her own parents,
He that had fathered her, and she that had held her in her abdomen, and birthed her,
They gave this child more of themselves than that;
They gave her afterward every day--they became part of her.
The mother at home, teaching her children and keeping her house;
The mother with loving words—read a bedtime story, pray and give a kiss,
her dark red lipstick leaving a mark;
The father, fun, expectant, protective, loving, silly, just;
The hug, the three words, the guiding, the constant involvement,
The dank basement, the French doors, the chandelier, the orange chair--the fireplace with the old tan hearth,
Affection that was never-ending—hugs and kisses and always an encouraging word
The prancing of day-time and the doubts of night-time--the curious where and how,
Where I will go when I die, how will I die, what to do?
Where I will go when I die, how will I die, what to do?
How to ride a bike, how to tie shoes, how to do everything that grown-ups do everyday?
The streets themselves, and the big green yards, and school across the street,
the playground with the rolling slide and prickly burrs,
the house with the wooden animals- moose and rabbits, and raccoons, and mostly
the bears, the papa bear and the baby bear- all life-like, eyes blank, staring
The streets themselves, and the big green yards, and school across the street,
the playground with the rolling slide and prickly burrs,
the house with the wooden animals- moose and rabbits, and raccoons, and mostly
the bears, the papa bear and the baby bear- all life-like, eyes blank, staring
The water park near by, rushing with life during summer, sleeping soundly during winter
The warm, sticky nights, sleeping in a musty tent, lightning bugs blinking all around
The cold, bright days, filled with snowball fights and forts
The cold, bright days, filled with snowball fights and forts
And hot chocolate and more snowball fights
The small world, the patio and swing set, the fragrance of wet earth and sweet flowers;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
The small world, the patio and swing set, the fragrance of wet earth and sweet flowers;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
Wow, Heather, these are great memories for me, too. I just stepped back in time; wonderful memories of days gone by! In my minds eye, I, too, saw the tree house, the swing set, the wrought iron fence, and the school play ground across the street! Oh, and the orange chair! :) I remember fondly the three sweet little girls and the baby boy, the mother with red lips... teaching, praying, reading and tucking kids into bed. The father, yes, the silly, strong, reverent, driven father! Yes, I remember as I sit here with a lump in my throat and thanfulness in my heart for wonderful memories! Thank you, Heather!
ReplyDeleteLove you bunches, Nana
I loved reflecting on these memories from Grand Island, NE! It brought back memories for me, too...I could smell the dank basement! :) Thanks for sharing this poem here. --Mom
ReplyDeleteOh wow!! That was really awesome! Definitely brings back memories. This is a really special poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks for showing us this poem again! It's even more precious.... three years have passed since reading it.... Fifteen years have passed since you lived it, and the rest of our family lived parts of it with you!
ReplyDeleteBlessings to you, Heather, from Nana
Wow! Good stuff! I read this to Dad before bed, and now I'm up in the middle of the night enjoying it one more time. I even looked up the original Walt Whitman poem. I must say, yours is MUCH better! Don't tell Walt, though!
ReplyDeleteMom