Wee Three is my entry.
I love this photograph. It’s been in my purse, in a frame and on occasion my screensaver. I’m not sad when I look at it, it makes me feel great joy and fills me with all of the good childhood memories that I have. Chasing our dog, the dog chasing us, arguing over who’s purple corduroy’s they were, mine or my brothers. The fact that they fitted me better meant I won. I can smell the wet grass my dad reluctantly cut using an old rusty red mower. Our job was to follow behind picking up the wet grass, or, alternatively, throwing it at each other, trying to sock it into each others mouths. I remember Patrick asking me to follow him, he had an exciting revelation. We hid in the hedge, where he said “Bloody Nora”. Our first swear words. We thought we’d go to hell.
It makes me think of summer or at least the summers I remember having, hot, long, learning to ride a bike and then coming off that bike and losing my top four teeth. I still think of that every time I go to the dentist, even now.
I remember mum teaching us to make scones, knit long and terrible looking scarves, ghost stories and watching Hawaii 5-0 and the Bionic Man. When Patrick died I just assumed the scientists from Bionic Man had him and were re-building him. I told Mum that recently, we laughed but inside I knew it made us both a bit sad.
Gerry was the serious one and liked being orderly, keeping his felt tip pens with the lids on, neatly in the pack in rainbow order. Patrick and me thought this was very dull and therefore were banned from using them. Once I was allowed (I had tonsillitis) but gave up after being told off numerous times for colouring in too loud which clearly meant I was pressing too hard.
But mostly I remember laughing, great full on belly laughs until we nearly wet ourselves, chasing each other, jumping out the side window, being told to be quiet over and over and falling asleep not knowing yet that one day we would be one.