Tag Archives: retro

Flip-Flops And Life

I am a 70's girl stuck in 2014.  How do I learn to belong? Can you pick me out?

I am a 70’s girl stuck in 2014. How do I learn to belong? Can you pick me out?

Running late for my dental appointment, I grab my socks and I thought my shoes. As I start the engine and travel down the road, I realize the shoes were a figure of my crazy imagination.
Laughing out loud to no one but myself, I don’t turn around. Frozen in time, I look down to my bare feet and think who cares?
I could say I don’t care about shoes and I do not care to choose, but reality is I was in a hurry.

“Alesia, put something on your feet if you are going out to play!” Living in Hawaii–who cares, right.
“Ok, mom,” As I run out with flip-flops in my hands and no socks. The flip-flops never made it to my feet usually.
It was 1971 and who gave a you know what about shoes. We lived in Hawaii and we just wanted to have fun and playing with the other kids without shoes on was the norm.
Those were the days. No one held this girl down. No shoes for sure did. Being on your own time and really no time source to tell me different made me feel like nothing could go wrong. Reminiscing of the days of old, I still realize how I loved those old days. Backing up in my mind, everything was going my way. I could do whatever I wanted to do.

“Damn.” I said to myself realizing I was not going to turn around for my shoes just because I was going to the dentist. You could call it crazy, but I called it freedom and memory freezing even if just for the 15 minute drive. The sun was beaming down on my car hood and it was just a beautiful day. Who cares if I have any shoes? I sure did not. After all I am just an American woman wanting to mess with your mind and show up barefoot.

Oh..That's where those flip-flops ended?

Oh..That’s where those flip-flops ended?

“Alesia, time for supper. Come in before your food gets cold!” Man, moms know how to mess up a good tether ball tournament going on with my friends on the Barracks we lived in. All the children I played with hovered around that ball and string.
“Ok, mom!” I shouted. My friends were so kind. They crowned me the champion for the evening tether ball match. I took that championship home with me with a big smile on my face. Walking into the house, my mom looks at my dirty 9-year-old feet. OOPS!!!! No flip-flops on.

Walking into the dentist office and then sitting into the chair, my dental hygienist does not even notice I am barefooted.
She starts talking about some old man’s world book series where men would turn into young men and become super heroes.
Geez, I felt like a super hero just then. I got caught outside without my shoes on and no one cared!

Honolulu 1971. Ahhh! The life.

Honolulu 1971. Ahhh! The life.

Wild Walls

Walls are a part of our lives in one way or another. There are the walls of your home and then there are the invisible walls people put up to close off the world. Both have the same distinction to protect a person from intruders.
When I was 14 years old, there was an enclosed tunnel made out of cement that I had to walk through everyday to get to school. The typical teenage writing was on it’s walls with some girl writing her undying love for some guy. It was a mystery to me that someone would want to be writing about love on a cold, damp wild wall. Yet here I was captured each day by its graffiti. There was no way to walk around it. It was the only way to school.
Reminded by my conscience that writing on a wall is destroying someone’s property, I never engaged in this activity. I did not want to wrangle with words that someone else would read anyway. It seemed pointless and leads to someone reading useless crap. Yet I wanted to write something, but not empty chatter as was the case with 90% of what was written on those stone walls.
One particular day I stopped as I was exiting the tunnel and said to the walls, “Give me 14 more years and I will show you something!” I then turned away from that tunnel to never walk through it again. It was my last day of junior high school.
As I have aged my childhood now holds some sacred truths. I learned that writing is good even if it is graffiti. Here I was a lonely girl holding on so long ago to those walls. They became a part of me without even understanding their impact. Every 14 years in fact I have taken stock of what I could show those walls.

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Local newspaper clipping from my teenage years playing softball. Childhood memories are so important to who we become later in life.