A VIVID MEMORY 1
A vivid memory I have is of a certain day when I babysat for my cousins. The older one, Katie, was at Brownies painting plant pots, leaving me and five year old Connor to play a game until she returned.
When I arrived I was greeted on the doorstep by a shy little Peter Pan. Connor was dressed in one of the many fantastic costumes he owns. He keeps them in a wooden box which sits against the wall that his dad painted for him four years ago. A huge space ship with blue and orange flames appears to have just blasted off from the lid of the box. Connor loves it. It is one of the few possessions he has to remind him of his dad.
Sometimes I’ve even tried to fit in to one of the ‘baddie’ costumes so we can have a play fight. Needless to say, I’ve always failed. I don’t think a five—year—old’s dressing up box is meant to cater for a fifteen-year-old girl.
As I smiled warmly at Connor in his costume he declared, ‘You have been taken prisoner!’
I giggled to myself and thought, ‘This will be interesting.’ Little did I realise that I was going to spend the next half hour tied up with a skipping rope and trying to avoid the plastic toys being hurled at high speed towards me.
‘Stop! Aargh!’ I yelled, as a Ninja Turtle narrowly missed poking my eye out.
The distress in my voice must have been obvious. Connor stopped lobbing dangerous objects and insisted quietly, ‘They are cannonballs!’
Nevertheless I managed to untie myself and get Connor to help me tidy up. I wrestled himinto a fireman’s lift and he squealed and wriggled as I carried him up the stairs, threatening totickle him if he didn’t get straight into his pyjamas.
This was actually a fairly easy task as over the month or two since I had started babysitting the children had learned to get changed when I told them to. In fact they are always very well behaved when I look after them.
Nowadays I feel much closer to them than before I began babysitting, and I still grow fonder of them every day. Looking after them is a good thing for me to do, as it helps my auntie when she has to go out without them. There really is no one else who can help.
Occasionally Connor and Katie will mention their dad in passing conversations, such as, ‘I have sums to do tonight.’ PAUSE ‘Daddy was good at sums.’ This never fails to make my throat tighten. I still get angry that two young, innocent children could lose their dad so suddenly.
They were both still under five years old when my uncle had a major heart attack and didn’t recover. My auntie was in her late thirties and my uncle David was only thirty-seven. He was perfectly fit and healthy, led an active life, and loved his family more than anyone else I know. I think that’s why, when we got the phone call, I couldn’t believe the bad news. Looking back, I must just have been in shock. It still seems so unfair. Remembering times I spent with him makes me think abut how I saw him — a tall, strong, clever man who never failed to make people laugh. I always looked up to him.
As the kids grow up they remind me more and more of their dad. Connor looks like him in every way and Katie has his bright eyes and sharp mind.
I’m glad I started babysitting for them, as it has taught me to handle situations on my own and I’ve learned the importance of being responsible. It has also brought me closer to my cousins. I know things about them I would not have known before, like how Connor likes his mango to be cut up, or the order of events is Katie’s week.
The best part of babysitting is putting them to bed, especially Connor. I love it when they are all snugly and sleepy, eyes half closed but still insisting I read their favourite story and do all the voices.
When Connor cosies up to sleep he is hardly any bigger than a pillow, leaving masses of space below on the bed. I tuck him up, smile adoringly at the barely visible lump under the covers and stand for a bit, watching him fall asleep. I think how much I love them both, whisper, ‘Night, night’ and softly pad down the stairs to wait on the sofa until it’s time to go home.
A VIVID MEMORY 2
It’s probably the most painful thing I’ve ever done to myself, mentally as well as physically. I should have listened to what my mum told me that day.
I was in the garden playing football by myself. It must have been around eight o’clock when my mum shouted out the window, ‘Stop making a racket with that ball! You’re going to break something or hurt yourself!’ That was one thing I certainly didn’t want to do, injure myself. There was a big football competition only a week away and the prize was a Premiership trial with Chelsea.
The next thing I knew I seemed to be running down my driveway diagonally. I just lost my balance and went over on my left ankle with all my weight down upon it. The pain was excruciating. My automatic reaction was to hop onto my still strong foot. If I remember correctly I heard a tearing sound. I knew this couldn’t be good.
Casting my mind back I can remember my thoughts and feelings. The second it happened I could feel something ripping and tearing in my ankle. There was unbelievable pain. It was like someone was wrenching my muscles apart and would not stop. I needed to lie down.
I managed to hop back into my house, into the living room and onto the couch. The pain was so sore that I could not even touch my ankle. I was soon, with the help of my mum, lying down with a pack of ice smothered over the ankle.
Days passed. It got no better and so I went to the hospital to be told I would be out of football and all other physical activities for eight weeks. This was where the mental pain lay. I would not be able to take part in the competition.
On top of that, my whole summer holiday was ruined. The pain in my ankle made me feel weak and tired and I knew it was going to be a long eight weeks.
When I look back now on this incident though I realise that it did not actually change or really affect my life. When I think of it I know I had no chance of winning that trial with Chelsea. Sometimes I look back with regret and wonder how far I could have gone, but reallythink it was a bit of an unrealistic dream. I still love football but now it’s just a hobby to me. The experience hasn’t exactly made me a more cautious person, because I still play football every day, but I am more likely to listen to what other people have to say.
I was stupid to keep playing when I was warned to stop. If I had stopped I would have been able to do a lot of great things that summer. I can see now that sometimes what other people tell you or advise you to do is better than your own judgement, and that you should listen to what people say because it might save you from doing something stupid.
I’m sure it’s the same on a much wider scale.When you don’t listen to people you get yourself hurt, or other people hurt, or you get yourself into trouble.
I hurt my ankle by not listening to my mum, but events like this happen on a much wider and larger scale too. For example people are told not to drink and drive but they do it anyway. When someone is drunk and driving a car they have no control, just like I had no control to stop myself going over on my ankle.
The result of crashing a car drunk is probably hurting someone else as well as yourself, and for sure getting yourself into trouble. That wasn’t the case with my ankle. I only hurt myself, but the same moral works on a more serious and wider scale. If you listen to other people, great things can happen and disasters can be avoided.