The stories of my life on a little island in the middle of the Mediterranean sea ... and my occasional adventures beyond these shores.

Monday, 5 November 2012

The Ten-Year-Old Me

Once upon a time there was a little girl. A ten year old girl. And she had many dreams. But she did not dream big. She loved history and writing fairy-tales with a happy ending. By ten, she had seen a little bit of the world - London and a few other English cities; Catania and her beloved Rome. Enough places to make her realize that there was much more to the world than the little island in the Mediterranean that she lived on. She enjoyed reading, amongst many others, mystery stories by Enid Blyton; the legends of King Arthur and ‘Little Women’ from an old book that her mother had used at school. When she wasn’t devouring books she spent her free time riding her bike and playing with dolls. Her favourite colour was red, with turquoise as second best. She was shy, except with her best friends, and her favourite soft toy was a monkey named Gibbons.
Books (2)
In 1981, when she was 10, the world was in the icy grip of a Cold War, there were two countries named Germany and an impenetrable curtain divided Europe in two. A president and a pope were shot that year, the first space shuttle was launched and the wedding of the century took place in London. Kim Carnes topped the Billboard charts with Bette Davis Eyes and somewhere in the wings, pimply teenaged boys were busy tuning their electric guitars and practicing the riffs that would soon define the music of a whole generation.
At ten she was still young enough to dream of a handsome prince and to believe that adults knew what they were doing and that they would make the world a better place. She made no plans for herself and was not even too sure that she wanted to grow up.
But she did. That ten year old girl was me. I sometimes wonder where that ten year old girl has gone. Whether she would recognize herself if we met face to face. So many things have changed. But her favourite colour is still red; a battered monkey named Gibbons still survives (although in a memory box, tucked under the bed) and she still likes to write fairy tales – except that now,  life has taught her that they don’t always have happy endings. Oh … and she’s still not sure whether she wants to grow up.
My thanks go to Jeanne at Collage of Life who was the inspiration behind this post.
Finally, this coming Friday (or on one of the Fridays thereafter) I hope to participate in False Start Fridays. False Start Fridays, which is Suze’s initiative, will serve as a platform where writers can post snippets that got off to a false start. I’ll see whether I will be brave enough to publish one of mine. Anyone wishing to participate can head over to Subliminal Coffee for the rules.


  1. Hello Loree:
    We are quite certain that the ten year old girl is still very much part of you, complete with toy monkey and, we are sure, all manner of impish ideas,hopes and dreams!!

    We can identify with so many of these sentiments although we, as ten year olds, would have been some decades earlier. Perhaps it is for ever so?

  2. Dear Loree, I think this is wonderful. What you are doing here, the manner in which you are growing more and more brave. These posts make me simply want to read more.

    I love to read memoirs. And I think people like to read about lives that are very different from theirs but also lives that are similar. I sense that in your words. That in reading about your life, I would learn about how the perceptions of girl growing up around the same time as me on another continent are different but how, in very fundamental ways, we are the same.

  3. That's funny ! you must be soul sister ! I did exactly the same as you, loved reading and writing and my favorite colors are still red and turquoise !
    The only difference between us is I have never been shy !

  4. Loree, lovely post! I think that little 10 year old girl has grown into a very intelligent woman. Good Luck for the new initiative!

  5. Dear Loree - this is such a touching post - wouldn't it be nice to be 10 again? I know sometimes I look at myself in the mirror (older than you) and wonder too where that little girl went...hopefully inside each of us we are still children at heart. Thanks for sharing a very special part of you.

  6. Oh Loree I loved your every word. It's weird, sometimes it seems we are still the person we were at 10, other times we can't help but notice how much we've changed..

  7. This post really got me thinking. My 10 year old self was coping with more than I think any 10 year old should. I have such a different perspective. My father walked out on Xmas day and never returned. My mother was forever changed, bitter, angry, hopeless. I buried my 10 year old self in Trixie Belden Mysteries, held on to my Miss Beasley doll, and stared at maps dreaming of any possible escape. I love my life now. I look back at my childhood with such sadness and regret..I don't know who that 10 year old self could have been. But I do know I thought long and hard before bringing any more children into this world.

  8. The 10 yr old in all of us just has to love this post. You've just jump-started thoughts of my 10 yr old self. Good ones. Thank you.

    I came over at Suze's suggestion. ~Mary

  9. Love this little glimpse of you as a child. Keep writing!

  10. Love you as a 10 year old and love you as you are now : ) Keep writing!

  11. absolutely love this post
    what a beuatiful perspective!
    the history paragraph was great

  12. Delightful........... it reminds me of my childhood. Somewhere along the way I stopped my writing and dreaming, and now I am trying to make up for "lost ground" during my period of mid-life mayhem! Joyeux Noel.


Thanks for stopping by. I read and appreciate every one of your comments. I will do my best to reply whenever I can.


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