Once Upon a Childhood…
May 12, 2009, by Prudence Baird
Prudence Baird is transported back to a time when her boys were small; a time rich with storybooks, morning hugs, inquiry and magic.
Mother’s Day has come and gone—again bringing with it all the reminders that this phase of life soon will pass. Lumpy breakfasts in bed and hand-drawn cards, both lovingly crafted by children eager to please, have been replaced with brunch out and Hallmark cards personalized only as a grumpy teenager can do—with a signature.
And so it is that under a starlit dome outside my bedroom window, as Gemini’s twins arc overhead and the grandfather clock begins to strike midnight, my restless mind mulls over a bittersweet discovery made earlier that day as I trawled through a neglected drawer looking for letter-sized file folders.
My probing hand settled on a smooth plastic stick, a foot long, with rounded ends—a child’s toy; a magic wand mixed in with old pens, highlighters, Post-it notes and rolls of tape. The wand’s cool resin holds inside two liquids—one heavy and cobalt blue, one light and clear. In this embryonic fluid dances a teaspoon or so of silvery sparkling stars and tiny gold crescent moons that float from one end of the wand to the other.
I hold the wand to the light. As the particles swim to and fro, I am transported to the time when I met this wand standing with its mates in a rectangular basket on a low-lying shelf at Once Upon a Story, a children’s bookstore that long ago filled a canary yellow craftsman cottage with fairytales and stories of monsters, magic and make-believe in Silverlake, California.
So many great children’s books—The Little House in the Big Woods; Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone; Goodnight, Moon; Half Magic; The Five Children and It; biographies, histories and dinosaur books—were tucked into a rabbit’s warren of rooms with hand-hooked rugs and tiny rocking chairs made just so for small bottoms to settle into while discovering the delights of words and illustrations together. Interspersed between the books were science experiments, knitting projects, beading kits, juggling balls, fairies’ wings—and magic wands. A check-out counter staffed by friendly middle-aged women with glasses on beaded chains was packed with whimsical gift cards, friendship bracelets, mood rings and Mrs. Grossman’s stickers.
But most of all, the store was filled with children, including mine—two little bright-eyed boys who skipped happily across creaking wooden floors clutching Thomas the Tank engines in their little fists, hurling themselves face down into giant pillows shaped like turtles while making “vroom, vroom” boy-noises and running their locomotives across the floorboards.
It’s gone now, the aptly named Once Upon a Story; gone like so many other independent bookstores. Gone like the childhoods that once breathed life into the sunlit rooms and brightened parents’ lives with innocent inquiry, morning hugs and nighttime snuggles.
In the wee hours of this sleepless darkness, I am still there, waiting at the counter of Once Upon a Story. I am watching two small boys—one with golden curls, one with straight flaxen hair—as they present me with impossibly large piles of books to buy. I shake my head at some, accept others, and pause to consider the two magic wands held in tiny outstretched hands.
How can I say “no” to the pleading eyes that beg the question, “Do you see the magic, too?” I do. And I still do these dozen years later on this sleepless Mother’s Day weekend. A yellow wand for Casey, a blue one for Ethan—the same blue one I found today in the old file cabinet.
As mid-May ushers in the season of mandatory and somewhat manufactured celebrations—Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, June weddings—I hear again the words, “Something old, something new” and for the first time, I know what that “something” is that is borrowed; our children’s childhood. For me, now returned to the magical place from whence it came. Once you leave, you can never go back—except tonight, between the first stroke of midnight and the last.
May 12th, 2009 at 6:55 am
Beautiful!
I, too, have those wands. . .
May 12th, 2009 at 7:17 am
Like a beautifully written fairytale, you’ve captured the wonder and magic of children and parenthood; the fleeting moments and etched memories. Thank you.
May 12th, 2009 at 7:41 am
What is so amazing to me is that while I have not had children, you transported me to my own childhood book moments, albeit in a library with my first library card. And I can assure you that was a lot longer than a dozen years ago.
Some things are just timeless. Gratitude for your sleepless night.
May 12th, 2009 at 8:28 am
So moving and so true! Thank you.
May 12th, 2009 at 9:23 am
Such an eloquent essay. I remember our mother dressing my sister and I up and taking us downtown San Jose on the bus to the public library to get our first library cards. That day was filled with magic and has filled my life with the wonders of the written word. I’m so happy to know that mother’s are still making that happen for our future generations.
May 12th, 2009 at 11:09 am
Beautiful writing, Pru…so evocative…don’t we all have those little wands stuck in a drawer or box somewhere…and when chanced upon they do bring back that rush of memory…
at least you got a card and a brunch..i was greeted, after waking my sons up with, “Why are you ruining my day” because we were going to friends w/ my parents…the joy of motherhood…Happy Mother’s Day!
May 12th, 2009 at 2:16 pm
Cheryl, you can always pass along the curse my mother leveled at me when I was an incorrigible teen, “I hope someday you have children who treat you as horribly as you treat me.” So far, my boys haven’t managed to “achieve” that special level of nastiness, but there’s still time, eh?
May 12th, 2009 at 2:38 pm
Oh, Pru, through my tears I’m seeing memories of SuperHero costumes; Ninja masks, capes of all colors, books, books, books. How lucky we are to have been part of these little guys’ awakenings. Thank you for capturing what so many of us have experienced and couldn’t find words for, just long sighs…
May 12th, 2009 at 5:42 pm
Your beautiful words almost made me want to be a mom. You crafty thing, you!
May 12th, 2009 at 10:33 pm
I loved your essay. thanks so much for helping me remember my own two sons when they were small and I shared all their magic. My sons are grown and are now 24 and 26 and I was afraid that this Mother’s Day would be a particularly sad one since my own mother just passed away this summer and I miss he so terribly. My husband knowing this tried his best to make it a special time and took me to brunch and then bike riding in Yosemite which is still one of my favorite places in the world no matter how many zillion times I see it. It was a marvelous day but I missed my sons terribly and as we rode through the park I remembered all the times we had been together as a family. When I came home my younger son called and asked me if I had liked the books he had sent me and I said of course as they are about dogs and dogs, and my dogs are only second in my heart to my husband and sons and have become so important to me as my sons have left home. Craig my “easy” son, as always made me laugh and feel better telling me he loves me always. When I hung up Iasked my husband if he thought my son Sean remembered this very commercial but still nevertheless important holiday to me. He said he thought Sean was at a fire down south working it- as he is a firefighter. Resigning myself to not seeing or hearing from Sean I proceeded to make the skewers for our barbecue that night. I was thinking of all the unresolved conflect Sean and I had going on and sending my love out to him. In the middle of the skewing my dogs started barking furiously and I heard a door slamming. Rushing in was not a burglar but the burly body of my firefighter son dirty and smiling. “Hey Mom Happy Mother’s day. I just got off a fire and I came home to do some tractor work for you and do you have enough dinner for me?” he said flinging his shirt off and putting on work clothes. Sean my challenging son who has tugged at my heart strings in so many moments was there when I needed him most. “I thought this mother’s day might be a hard one for you.” Sean not only did tractor work but stayed for dinner, and watched “Brothers and Sisters” with me on T.V., a show he can’t stand.
To put the icing on the cake he stayed overnight and gave me a mushy Hallmark Card. Prudence, you have much more magic to look forward to with your sons. I am still smiling over my magic Mother’s day.
May 13th, 2009 at 7:56 am
I really love reading your stuff, Prudence, and hope you keep at this for many more years. There is so much for you to cover with your sharp memory and keen words.
Thank you.
May 13th, 2009 at 9:10 am
Lori, thank you so much for sharing your magical Mother’s Day. By showing up and giving so generously of his time and of himself (even watching the sudsy “Brothers & Sisters” with you!), Sean has told you everything you’ll ever need to know about his essential nature. You need not worry about this one–he has shown you his heart and it’s golden through and through. What a gift he is. Prudence
May 19th, 2009 at 7:02 pm
Well, Pru, you know those wands are still here in this house–a number of them, in different variations, because, as you know, we can never bear to get rid of anything, and certainly not childhood. I loved that bookstore, I loved those childhoods. I can see your sweet boys when they were so very young and wild and full of wonder; they are called up for me instantly. And of course there was magic in those wands…You’ve conjured up such a lovely memory chain with your words, once again. Beautifully done.