Everyday Canvas

The Sounds of My Childhood

Prompt: What do you remember as sounds (e.g. clapping, cheering, being yelled at, raindrops, thunder etc.) from your childhood or from any phase of your life? Write about it in any type, form, or style you wish.

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I recall my childhood through its sounds, most of which were anchored in love and amazement that circled inside the mind, fortifying my bond to memories. What I recall may be snippets of remembrances that arrive in flashes, but as if I have traveled backward in time, I feel I am reliving them all over again.

Such are the sounds, like: The shuffling of cards or the moving of the backgammon pieces and the rolling of the dice when my uncles played with each other; the big splash my cousin made when she fell into the murky well, after which it took three men to rescue her; on laundry day, the swishing of the damp sheets on the line; the breaking of the earth by the hoes and spades before the sowing in spring; the pinwheels whirling on the flower beds; the pitter-patter of the rain on the umbrella, which my grandfather held with one hand while holding me up and carrying me with the other; the roar of thunder; the songs my aunt sang and the sliding of her slippers as she danced to her own singing; the bell on the front door ringing with its strange noise; the meows of the kittens born just a few days ago in the big box; the waving flags over everything in a parade whose sounds were outdone by the band; the whirring of fans in hot summer nights; the bluish, jazzy voice of the burgers on the grill that used to creep me out; the ding-dong of the ice-cream truck, singing its ditty; trunks of the cars, opening with the promise of gifts; wind stirring in the bushes; the waves breaking and lapping onto the beach and the spilling of sand from the little shovel as I attempted to load my colorful pail; the hammering of nails by the handyman while he fixed things around the place; the leaves falling from the trees with a slight complaint while my boots crunched the piles on the ground; the beautiful silence of snow broken by me and my aunt while we made snow angels on it; my mother’s whispering by the fence to the next door neighbor in her futile attempt to hide from me what she’s saying; the hasty sounds my mother’s pen made as it sprinted on the page when she wrote to my father who was away and stayed away.

When I look back, the cacophony that arises stuns me, and I ask myself, has anything ever happened that I did not forget due to its sounds?