When I was a little bit littler, I didn’t understand the world. Everything seemed much bigger than me. The kitchen counter was so big, even standing on tippy toes, I couldn’t see what was placed upon it. The phone on the kitchen wall was so high, unless I stood on a chair, there was no way to reach it. Trying to climb into the bathtub, car, or school bus without my parent’s help was very difficult and usually ended with me falling and getting hurt. Even the grocery cart was so large and heavy, pushing it by myself was impossible.
Growing up back on that old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo, everything was much bigger than me — even Mom and Dad. In fact, for the longest time, I thought they were real giants.
I have proof
I know thinking your parents are giants doesn’t seem logical, but to a five-year-old, I assure you, back on Flamingo Street it did. For example, either of my parents could pick my whole body up at any time, place me on a hip, and walk just about anywhere without being tired. Only a real giant could do that. But that’s not my only evidence. I’m just getting started.
Further proof my parents were giants: my dad could pick me up, throw me high into the air and never let me hit the ground. Dad also let me view the July 4th parade from the best seat on Main Street – his shoulders. And when Older Brother Richard “accidently” knocked me out of our treehouse in the backyard, it was Dad who carried me, running all the way back up to the house and placing me gently into the car. Only a real giant could do that.
Mom was a true giant also
I can remember as far back as when I was five, and I’ve relied on those memories to write countless stories of my three brothers, The Sister and me growing up on Flamingo. But throughout all those years, there’s one thing I can’t remember: Mom complaining about anything.
Climbing up and down steps from the basement to the kitchen and second floor as she did laundry, cooking, and cleaning all while running after five children under the age of eight and making sure none of us did anything that might have gotten us hurt, our mom seemed to never tire.
Dad threw us up into the air and caught us on the way down, but it was Mom who held me on one hip and Twin Brother Mark on the other while walking through stores, up and down steps, and even while stirring pots on the stove.
And it was Mom who always stood beside Dad and, when necessary, stood up to him. Years after Mom’s passing, I got to know my dad much better. The fact that my mom stood up to him makes her, in my eyes, even more of a giant than he was.
Finally, now that I’m a little bit bigger, the things I thought were much larger than me are really just normal sized … with one exception. As I look back over a life well lived with them, I still see my parents, married for 33 years, as the giants that they were. And I thank them for always being there to catch my three brothers, The Sister, and me before any of us hit the ground.
I hope our two granddaughters, Little One and Sweet Caroline will look back over their childhood with us one day and know the Wife and I have been and will always be there to catch them before they hit the ground – even if we aren’t true giants.
The big ones looking after the little ones. That’s the way it should always be.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories weekly in The Citizen since 2001.]
