memories

The Enduring Magic Of Children’s Books

~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

Just recently my two and a half-year-old son achieved a milestone I had been particularly looking forward to; that of being able to sit, listen and enjoy longer picture books such as The Gruffalo. We are now very much past the baby board books and the Usborne ‘That’s Not My…’ books (thank God!!)  We are still very much into flaps (Is There A Dog In This Book is a constant favourite) but we have moved on from touch and feel baby board books.

Finally, I can say with slightly emotional pride, my little lad can sit through the entirety of Room On The Broom without losing attention for a second. Oh, what wonderful opportunities now flood our way! Literally, bookshelves full of them!

He has enjoyed ‘We’re Going On A Bear Hunt’ and ‘Rattletrap Car’ for some time now, but the length of rhyming prose in books like The Gruffalo and Room On The Broom were too much for him until recently.

I’ve felt quite tearful reading to him lately, for many reasons. Of course, when your child passes a milestone, whether it’s starting to walk or starting to talk, you always feel a strong mix of emotions. Pride and excitement are the dominant ones, but there is always an added pang of wistfulness. Your little baby is growing and changing and time stands still for no one. I sat with him last night, his little legs pressed next to mine, his bottle of milk on his lap, while I read him The Gruffalo for the first time. By this, I mean for the first time since he’s been able to appreciate longer books! He was leaning over the pages and I could feel his concentration and anticipation. I wondered how much of the story and the tricks the mouse plays on everyone, were getting through to him.

I found myself drifting back in time, just as I had the day before with Room On The Broom. I have a strong minded, very individual fourteen-year-old daughter, who was once an equally strong-minded two-year-old. After her bath, we used to wrap her in a towel, sit her on her potty and read Room On The Broom to her. I will forever associate that book with potty training! And reading it again in its full glory, to my little boy brought back so many memories I could have cried. I found myself doing the same voices (I make the witch sound rather old and croaky, and of course the dragon has to sound like a ruffian from the East End of London)

The same thing happened while reading The Gruffalo tonight. My voice was getting louder, my accents more pronounced, along with my hand gestures! My little boy cracked up when the mouse said ‘gruffalo crumble!’ and we laughed about it for ages afterward. God, I must have read that story so many times to my older kids. How wonderful to be introducing such magic and laughter to another generation.

It was my oldest son, my nine-year-old who got into the Julia Donaldson books the most, though. For a fair few Christmases we would ask friends and family to buy him one of her books, so we have quite a collection now, which I am so pleased we held onto. The other day when reading to my youngest, his older brother drifted into the room and joined us on the bed. He requested Tiddler, which if I remember, was his favourite when he was just a tiddler himself. I hadn’t read it in years, but it all came back to me, and yet again I felt transported back in time. The loveliest thing was that my older son started reading it too, matching my voice, so that we were both reading it out loud at the same time. Tiddler! Tiddler! Tiddler’s late! Like an earworm, the refrain has been in my head for days since. I like tiddler’s story, said little Johnny Dory…and he told it to his Granny…who told it to a plaice!

Childhood books are like windows in time, taking you back to another you and another place, filling you with sweet warmth and stoking your belly with fresh giggles. I recently re-read Watership Down for the first time in adulthood, and I was hooked from start to finish. Not only that, I felt like a kid again. Touched by magic and wonder, on the edge of my seat with worry for this troubled band of runaway rabbits. Every chapter delivered a new adventure, the stakes even higher once they finally found a new home and discovered the vicious dictator in the next warren. I cried when I read the last chapter. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I was that ten-year-old girl again, curled up in the arm chair in my childhood home, totally absorbed, my cloth ears closed to all but Hazel and Fiver and Bigwig, my teeth biting my lip, my eyes welling with tears when Hazel realised he didn’t need his body anymore… (Gulp)

watership-down

Children’s books are powerful magic indeed. Reading them, sharing them, reliving them in later years. Research shows that reading to babies and toddlers helps them associate books with love and affection, fostering a lifelong love of books and reading. I look at books as adventures waiting to happen, as worlds waiting for you to step inside them. I am so excited that my youngest can enjoy longer books; there are so many places we can now go!

What about you? What were your favourite books as a child? What books have your own children become obsessed with? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stay In Your Own Lane; first music gig

~ ChanAtkins ~ 6 Comments

Last night I took my thirteen year old daughter and her two closest friend to their first gig. The band was their current favourite, Twenty One Pilots (their wikipedia page describes their sound as schizophrenic pop, in case you’ve not heard of them!) Anyway, the genre and the band are not particularly important to this post, although I will say I was enormously impressed.

My daughter has been to family music festivals before, but this was the first time she got to a see a band of her choice, a band she has discovered and fallen in love with herself. I have to admit, I felt kind of privileged to be able to experience this rites of passage experience with her, even if it was politely from the side-lines. I watched their excitement build as we finally arrived at the venue, and watched their confidence soar as they joined the massive, snaking queue of teens, who all looked just like them. (Checked shirt, skinny jeans, red beany hat.)

My daughter has a phrase she sometimes uses when I show an interest in her music tastes, or when we discuss our musical differences. She will say jokingly; ‘stay in your own lane’! Which basically means, don’t try to get it, don’t try to understand, go back to the 90’s where you belong!

So, with this in mind, I kept to myself in the over excited queue, whilst keeping a watchful eye over my hyperactive charges. I wasn’t there to enjoy the band, and had to keep reminding myself of this. I wasn’t there to join in, or embarrass them in any way. I was only there because under fourteens must be accompanied by an adult.

Once inside, they queued for their merchandise or ‘merch’ as they call it these days, we found the toilets, and then found our seats in the circle upstairs. Once seated, I looked around and felt immediately old and out of place. I go to gigs and festivals as much as I can, but I go to see either music from my era, the 90’s, or music I have gotten into lately. I was surrounded by teenage girls and boys who all looked remarkably like my strong minded daughter. I was also really tired and could have easily dropped off asleep at that point. I then started to notice the other parents. Dotted here and there among the beany hats and checked shirts, sat sedately and smiling gently while the excited chatter built to a crescendo around them, were parents, around my age or older. They were out of their lanes too.

Then the band started. The four teen girls in front of us instantly leaped to the feet and started bouncing and screaming, and pretty much didn’t stop. Everyone else followed suit, while us oldies remained seated, as we were only there because we had to be. We didn’t want to get too excited or too involved, no matter how good the band was.

I tried to mind my own business, whilst stealing the odd glance at my teen as she enjoyed herself. I’ll admit I had to choke back the odd tear or two, watching the utter joy on her face as she sung along to the songs she loved. It was more than just excitement though, more than just joy and the wonder of a first time time experience. It was their sudden sense of belonging, of being part of a tribe to while they automatically knew they belonged, of seeing themselves in the people around them, feeling a powerful sense of unity and without a doubt, pride in who they are.

It made me think back to my first gig. Pulp is always the one that sticks in my mind. I think it was 1994 and I went with my then best friend, a girl who had always been bullied and ridiculed at school. I remember how it felt for us, to walk among a crowd of young people who looked just like us, who loved Pulp as much as we did. We belonged. We’d found our people, and no one was going to laugh at us for being different.

That feeling was repeated for me many times over the years, and even more recently when I finally got to see the reformed Stone Roses at Finsbury Park in 2013. That smile you get on your face when you recognise the people. When you all sing along. When you jump and bounce and wave your arms all as one. A tribe. A belonging. Add to that the utter thrill of finally seeing a band you love, in the flesh, right there, and they are talking to you, and singing for you, and giving it all for you. Nothing can beat that! The only sad thing is that it ever has to end.

So, in the end, I was up on my feet like the rest of them. At one point a mini drum kit had been placed on a platform, and passed out on top of the crowd. The drummer then climbed onto it and drummed on top of the audience! The singer vanished, only to suddenly appear up on the balcony with us. Like all great front men, he had complete control of the crowd. If he had asked them all to jump off the balcony for him, they would have done so willingly.

I crept out of my own lane just a little bit, just long enough to be extremely impressed, and to wish I was young again! I didn’t sing or dance though. My daughter would have been mortified.

On the way home, the kids were buzzing and hyper. My daughter talked about the next gig she wants to go to. I can see now that she has the bug and I am happy for her. If anything can help you get through this confusing life in this crazy world, it’s music. It reminds you why you are alive.

I was left wondering if I would be welcomed along next time. By that date, she will be fourteen, and in most venues, won’t need and adult with her. I felt a brief stab of sorrow at the thought of being asked to merely drop her off and pick her up again. I’d miss out, but that is as it should be. She’s got her lane and I’ve got mine. I’m sure they will cross paths again at some point. Festivals are great for that.

In the meantime I will just savour the memories, of being able to witness one of her first experiences once again. Like watching her take her first steps, learn to ride a bike, and learn to read. I’m glad I got to be a part of it, even if it is unlikely to happen again!

Too Like You

~ ChanAtkins ~ Leave a comment

Memories evoked by music are a bit like dreams sometimes…

You can feel the emotion, there is no avoiding that. That is the thing that hits you over the head, blind sides you and stops you in your tracks. Christ yeah…I forgot about that song…I forgot about that. As well as the emotion there is something visual there, something tapping at the corners of your mind, something stealing into your vision, a bright flash that fades again just as quickly as it came. Like a dream you try to hold onto it, try to hold it still for examination but the more you try to see it and explain it, the more elusive and teasing it becomes. It’s like it does not really want to be caught or defined.

It’s all you can do not to cry, or just sigh. It’s fleeting, like everything in life, here one minute and gone the next, just like the moment itself, when it happened all those years ago. I don’t want to keep getting older and forgetting all of these things.

Money Mark singing Tomorrow Will Be Like Today. That was a new CD you bought over, and it was a small garden, enclosed by tall panel fences. The smell of yesterdays barbeque lingering in the air with cut grass. My knees pulled up onto the plastic garden chair. A crack in one leg playing on my mind. Too Like You. Hand In My Head. Makes me smile and think of you.

Did I become more like you, or did you become more like me?

I used to be the negative one, the worrier, the anti-social, and you used to be the smiler. Sandy haired and loose limbed, you used to say it all of the time; don’t worry. Don’t worry. Don’t ever worry about anything.

But that is not you now. Now I am the one who encourages you to see the light and to smile. Now I am the one who says don’t worry, and you are the one reluctant to go out there and deal with people and time and life.

You rubbed off on me. That was the way it happened. From moments like that, always with a new album playing in the background. So much of our story has a soundtrack. That’s why it happens like that when I hear a song, when it takes me back. Bang and I am young again. Not sat in the car staring solemnly at the rain on the window while you nip into the shop to buy some bread and milk.

How easily we grew up. It’s not really fair the way it happens like that. It takes you by surprise, because you are never paying attention as the years creep up. Then suddenly a decade has passed, and then another. It’s sometimes like we are still back there, existing back in time. We are two lots of people. Them and us. Then and now.

I am too like you now because you got inside my head.

You say that tomorrow will be like today and I say that sometimes you are wrong. I can’t remember what happened to that day. How did it end? Where did we go? What did we talk about and laugh about? I can just remember the feel of the plastic chair under me and the wobble, the give, from the crack in the leg. I can just remember the music, and that it was summer. I can see your face and the way you always smiled about everything and I can see you walking in with CD’s in your hand. I miss us.

My Music Memories

~ ChanAtkins ~ Leave a comment

So many, where to start? Don’t try to organise them, just go!

Travis; Why Does It Always Rain On Me? Glastonbury, no idea what year, beautiful clear blue skies, they start singing this and it starts raining! Lead singer grinning, laughing, everyone happy to be rained on…Flowers In The Window..still can’t sing along without choking up…working at Asda, stacking shelves, first child inside my belly, listening to the lyrics, let’s plant new seeds and watch them grow so there’ll be flowers in the garden when we go outside….wow look at you now, you are one in a million and I love you so, let’s watch the flowers grow..the video was all pregnant women and now can’t ever hear that song without remembering how it felt to be pregnant for the first time, just makes me think of her every time…

Embrace; Come Back To What You Know…relationship break-up, about to go away to Uni, living with mum, summer, jogging in the fields around the estate, still friends, not sure, scared, excited, not wanting to let go…was this song trying to tell me something?

Radiohead; all the songs on OK Computer…veeeeeery drunk on Sangria??!! In my bedroom, on my own, writing on my word processor, listening to this, writing random thoughts and thinking about lyrics, ended up on the floor, big jug of Sangria, what was I thinking? Why?? Still got those notes now. Hilarious to read. Thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams and an over-riding feeling of cold despair and fear for the future. Feeling that nothingness existed just for me. Thinking drink would help. Knowing it would not.

Oasis; Champagne Supernova…New Years Eve, 1998?? Everyone there, all the usual faces, everyone in love, everyone hammered, everyone crushed together in one hot dark horse shoe shaped pub, and this comes on….and everyone is singing, everyone is swaying, and hugging, and drinking, and loving, voices getting louder and louder…singing it all the way back home, drunken wobbling in heels along pavements of Christchurch…Cigarettes and Alcohol, Slide Away, Supersonic…getting read to go out music, loud as possible, wine on the go, tall mirror, heels, silk blouses?? Friends. Writing the lyrics around the edge of the pages in my diary…thinking, knowing, these are our songs, these are about us, and this is our band, this is our time…

Soul Asylum; Runaway Train…watching MTV house/dog sitting at my mum’s friends house, eating doughnuts, feeling fat, loving music, buying the vinyl single in Our Price

Gomez; Get Myself Arrested…summer of the break up, said boy turns up at my house in blood spattered shirt, not his fault, drunken night gone wrong, someone elses blood, standing up for a pal, got lairy with police, spent night in cell, and this song is out, this song is there, couldn’t be more perfect…Tijuanna Lady…Glastonbury, not sure what year, me, all alone, ankle deep in mud, band are new, crowd is small…start playing this, and a beautiful, in fact let’s get it right the most beautiful sunset of my entire life is happening right behind the stage, and all of life is hazy and shimmering and magical…and it is just me, all alone, soaking it up, one of those moments that you will never, ever forget…

The Stone Roses; I Am The Resurrection…had to have it loud every day, at least once a day, Uni days, got me going, had to be loud, all that mad drumming..Ten Storey Love Song…said boy taping these songs for me, me writing the lyrics out in a love letter to him, circling the special ones…Finsbury Park 2013, one of the best days of my life ever…all these songs, with so much attached, I am crying, actually crying, and so are people around me, because we love them so much! And when it is over, walking down the road, everyone singing This Is The One, this is the one, this is the one! This is the one, this is the one, she’s waited for! 

Steve Mason; Fight Them Back, listening to this album repeatedly all the way to Camp Bestival and back, summer 2014, me and my oldest and youngest child, windows down, slow, hot traffic, A Lot Of Love…will always think of my kids and that festival when I hear Steve Mason…then watching him live there, ranting about politics, just brilliant…

Super Furry Animals’ The Man Don’t Give A Fuck…Glastonbury 99?? Not sure. Middle of crowd, they are singing this song, and some truck or van is being driven through the crowd, no idea who is driving it or why, but people are climbing on it and dancing on it and it is moving very slowly through us, and it’s the same refrain over and over and everyone going nuts and loving it…no he don’t give a fuck about anybody else, no he don’t give a fuck about anybody else!

The Smiths; best of album, my go to sleep at Uni album for about a year, go out, get hammered, stagger home, fall into bed, head phones on, The Smiths. Weird.

The Beach Boys; God Only Knows, walk down aisle to be married, Wouldn’t It Be Nice? Walk back up aisle, married!!

Oasis; Wonderwall….first dance

Pulp; Mis-Shapes…me and my geeky friend, our song, all the lyrics just for us, about us! Watching them at the BIC, and Jarvis lights a fag and bends down to give it to a fan…and the crowd surge forward and we are right at the front and our ribs are crushed against the barriers and the barriers move, and the security men rush out, but all is ok, people move back, sorry, sorry, and Jarvis says don’t get hurt people, I don’t want you to get hurt

so many more, every CD I own will cause a slow collapse of memories and feelings, quite bizarre when you are driving, doing the school run, and all this stuff comes back to you…oh yeah, do you remember when??