I never considered myself spoiled
or privileged when I was a child. My parents were as strict (or not) as other
parents, they didn’t seem to give us more presents than other kids we knew, we
didn’t eat out very often or have a lot of big holidays. Life seemed pretty “normal”
to me. But now, as an adult, I realise how fortunate I was. Not only were my
parents and grandparents loving and considerate, they were very generous. We
wanted for nothing but we were not indulged.
The
first present I remember and love to this day is a teddy bear. I’m guessing
that I must have been about three years old when I got him. He was fluffy and
when he was moved, he growled! Teddy and I went everywhere together, even the
bath. It wasn’t long before he was bald and silent…but I still loved him. I
still have him, sitting on the bed on our boat, these days he is dressed warmly
and we call him “Manooka Ted”, after the first boat he travelled on.
When I
was about six, my nana gave me a walking doll. I called her Cheryl, after who I
have no idea. Nana was a tailor, and she made the beautiful velvet coat and hat
that Cheryl is wearing. She made several other outfits for Cheryl to wear, but
this must have been my favourite because Cheryl, who now graces the chair in
our bedroom, is still dressed like this. I have made her a bride dress to wear
underneath it because I have no idea what happened to her original clothes. She
still walks, but not well, as her legs cracked and had to be replaced.
Barbie
was born in the same year as me, but I have never owned an actual Barbie doll.
My sister and I must have lobbied for some, though, because one Christmas “Santa”
gave us imitations. We look happy enough with them, and I know they came with
their own outfits, but they met the same fate as many other toys – outgrown and
outcast.
When I
was a child, dolls and other soft toys did not appeal to me nearly as much as
things I could travel on. I can still remember getting my first three wheeler
bike. I loved riding my tricycle up and down our street, and I even “allowed” Janine
to dink on the platform on the back – if she was nice! Eventually the trike was
given to her when I was old enough for a scooter, then a “proper” bicycle; she
got a lot of my hand-me-downs…
“Santa”
was always very generous to us – he probably got a lot of praise he didn’t
deserve! When I got a two wheeler bike, my father spent many hours running
along beside me while I learnt to ride – I was not particularly good at
balancing and took a while to grasp the notion of holding on and steering, and
the brakes were a whole different ball game!
This is probably also the bike
from which I came a cropper riding down the hill from high school, swinging my
legs instead of having my feet on the pedals. A month on crutches served me right
for my carelessness.
Toys didn’t always have to be
store bought for me to have loved them. My papa made us this billycart – I look
at us on it now, rushing down the gravel driveway, with no brakes or steering,
and I marvel that we survived unscathed! But we really enjoyed every time we whooshed
down the hill – look at our smiles!
I may not rush down hills in a
billycart anymore or wobble unsteadily on a two-wheeler, but the memories
remain as vivid as ever. They remind me that true gifts are found in the quiet
kindness of those who make childhood safe, joyful, and unforgettable. And for
that, I will always be grateful.
Even now, when I see Cheryl
sitting gracefully in her chair, or glance at Manooka Ted nestled on the boat,
I am reminded of the love and care that surrounded me as a child. These
toys—some worn, some broken, some long gone—were never just playthings. They
were symbols of the generosity, patience, and devotion of my family.
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