I gave up the gun-toting five decades ago, and these days, all I corral are thoughts and ideas, but this is still pretty much me… pathetic eyebrows, huge soulful eyes, unflattering hair and a pen and notepad surgically attached. I no longer own a plastic horse or look after a herd of cuddly toys, but when I nurture my inner child, this is how she shows up. A loner, bright and bullied, who always felt a bit like a foreigner, at home in her head, in other languages, other lands, making up languages and teaching them to those same, obliging cuddly toys.
Our class at primary school was part of an experiment in teaching kids to read and write using a system called ITA, which was based on the international phonetic alphabet.
Here’s an example of one of our text books. Many of the kids in my class suffered because their families couldn’t help them to read and write, then suffered again when they had to transition back to normal English, which, ironically, was like a second language for us anyway, as we all spoke mining village Scots outside the classroom. Luckily, I not only coped with the language swapping, but thrived and went on to become a linguist, language teacher and translator.
In some ways I became a translator of life, too, as a parent and later, a life coach, helping folk make sense of their own lives and translate their dreams into action.
My favourite TV shows are still made in the USA, I’m still obsessed with clapboard houses and wooden porches and I still spend a ridiculous amount of time in my head or with a notebook, hoping to be a writer when I grow up.
Who were you as a child?
How do you nurture your inner child?
What were the signs back then of your essence, your destinies, the person you are now?
When was the last time you and your inner kid went out to play?
I buy my inner child pens and notebooks, coloured yarn, DVD’s and books as presents. What do you buy yours?