Down the Rabbit Hole

     

     Kids are funny. I was funnier than most. And by funny… I really mean odd. My parents were older and my brother was off to college by the time I was six. My sister left when I was 10. Before they moved out they were busy with the things that teens are busy with and that left me to ride in the car with my mother as she went about her “Welcome Wagon” duties. Yes, she was a Welcome Wagon lady. I learned to read street numbers and maps before I learned to read a book.  I knew evens were on the left and odds were on the right and just because a street looked like it ended it may just jog a bit to the right or the left once you passed the cross street at the end of the block. I knew how to put together the big packets of coupons that we would drop off at the newcomers’ homes.  The local heating and air conditioning company always printed their coupon on an 8 x 10 sheet and that was the one we used to wrap around the others. They were all bound together with one of those big, fat, brown rubber bands. I loved putting those packets together. Other little girls wanted to grow up and be teachers or dancers or nurses. I wanted to be a business woman.

     When I was 7 or 8 I would load up a wagon with goods from our garage. Rocks, dusty directories with yellowed pages and worn covers, soft drinks from the cases my dad always stacked against the sheet rock wall, little plastic prescription bottles that had been converted into screw and nail containers were all good enough for my resale ambition. I’d pull the wagon and ring as many doorbells as I could before the neighbors would call my house and let my parents know that I was at it again. At least one or two would buy what I was selling.

     For most of my childhood there was a vacant lot at the end of the street. It was a woodsy heaven for all the neighborhood kids. One night I was late coming home. I must have been in kindergarten. This was back when children of all ages were gone from morning until dusk and no one thought anything of it. I walked into the house, covered with mud. The real truth was that I had broken the rule about not leaving our street and I had traveled one block over and slipped into the big deep ditch that lined one side of the road. It was like quick sand and one of my brother’s friends heard my screams and plucked me from the muck. I ran home and immediately proclaimed that I had fallen into…a rabbit hole. I built on that lie and told them that the rabbit hole was in the vacant lot. No way could they know I had left the block. My mother, my aunt, my father, my uncle, and at least two neighbors all set out, like an army search party, to find this rabbit hole that was sucking in small children. And, when the rabbit hole was nowhere to be found, I was forced to come clean and tell the truth.

     I was a nervy little kid and that’s why, when the for sale sign appeared in that vacant lot, I didn’t hesitate to call the number and ask the price. I thought it would be a great place to build my little resale business. Keep in mind that I was no older than 9 years old. I’m not sure why the Realtor took my call and I really can’t imagine why she spent the time to tell me that I would need to call the city and have the lot rezoned from residential to business use. She even gave me the number to call. Another adult spent 15 minutes with me explaining the process. It never occurred to me that I didn’t have the money to actually buy the lot. And I really can’t believe that it never occurred to the adults that they were speaking to a little girl. I thought I’d make the money in sales. What were they thinking?

     I did grow up to be a business woman for part of my life.  A Realtor, as a matter of fact, and although I never fielded calls from little girls aspiring to be business women, I would have gladly taken their calls. I do still have penchant for office supplies and I’d rather spend an hour in Staples than trying on shoes.  

     I was riding in the car with my daughter last week. She was driving and looking for an address. She asked me how I knew all the things I knew about maps and roads and business and…well, all the little things I take for granted that I’ve known most of my life. It made me remember some funny and good parts of my childhood that I usually overlook. It’s pretty easy to get caught up in all the negative childhood stuff that’s usually at the forefront of most middle aged baby boomer memories. Sometimes you’ve just got to set aside the bad and remember the good stuff. And be thankful for the little lessons learned.