I Remember the Good, Too
_______
Not everything in my childhood was pain.
Some moments were full of laughter, scraped knees, and wild freedom—the kind of memories that still live inside me like sunlight breaking through stormy clouds.
I remember the first time I learned how to ride a bike.
Wobbly handlebars.
Unsteady feet.
I fell more than once, maybe more times than I could count.
But I got back up. Every time.
And when I finally kept my balance and rode forward on my own, I felt like I was flying.
That moment taught me something I still carry: I can fall—and still rise.
I remember climbing trees with Rose, our hands sticky with sap, our arms scratched from the bark. We dared each other to climb higher, and we laughed when we slipped or got stuck.
We’d sit on the branches like we were on top of the world, looking down at everything below like we were untouchable, unstoppable.
I remember playing with the neighbor kids, racing across yards, barefoot in the grass, turning the street into a playground.
We made up games out of nothing, turned puddles into oceans, and dirt into treasure.
We didn’t need much—just each other, our imaginations, and the space to run.
We moved to many places, but we were near our grandparents: Mamaw and Papaw
And I recall the old barn that once stood near my house.
Me, Rose, and the neighbor kids would climb all the way to the second story.
We’d stare down at the mattress we’d dragged out below—and then jump.
Every single time, it felt like flying and falling at the same time.
I was nervous at first, working up the courage to face it, but when I finally did it, I stuck the landing.
Twisted my ankle a little—maybe a small sprain—but I laughed it off.
I kept running. Kept playing. Like nothing could stop me.
I remember the adrenaline rush, I got scared, bold, and thrilled from it all.
And in those moments? Nothing did. I was just a kid—and I felt free. Sometimes, the world felt safe. Sometimes, it felt like I belonged in it. And those memories—the good ones—still belong to me.
Unless you were my crazy sister Rose… *cough*
I can still see her climbing a neighbor’s huge Leyland Cypress tree, trying to scare the life out of me and the neighbor kids we were playing with. She made it all the way up to the tip-top of that tree, swaying in the breeze like it was nothing.
Telling us she needs help.
I am stuck.
I don't know how to get down.
I stood there frozen, half-terrified and half-amazed. I tried to climb up after her, but I had no idea how she’d even managed to get up that high. All I could think about was running to tell mom—but I couldn’t leave her there. So I stayed put, my heart pounding, as I tried to figure out what to do. Maybe one of the boys could get her down?
One of the boys started climbing up to help her, but before he could reach her, Rose began climbing down on her own. Rose started climbing down all on her own. She shocked every single one of us, calm as ever. I thought it was funny and look on my face. When she finally reached the ground, a huge wave of relief washed over me, and frustration. I fussed at her and smacked her on the side of the head, half-scolding, half-relieved.
“Every good and perfect gift is from above,
coming down from the Father of lights,
who does not change like shifting shadows.”
—James 1:17
