A Lame Dwarf Returns to His Homeland (On Childhood Tales)

A friend of mine told me about her childhood growing up in Armenia. Alone much of the time, she created a variety of imaginary friends with whom she would communicate.

One such friend was a lame dwarf with whom she would communicate via letters left on the door. He would hobble to the door, give or take the message, the venture back to his homeland, walking awkwardly due to his one good leg. Unknown to her, the responses she received were crafted by her grandmother to encourage and perpetuate the fantasy.

Another time she informed me that as a child my friend would snatch floating newspaper scraps, keeping them in box hidden in her room. She would stare at them from time to time, trying to decode their hidden meaning; believing that someone or something was communicating with her.

She told me that her childhood was a safe place, thanks, removed from the dangers of the world. I imagine her at that age, precocious and impressionable, living in difficult times, experiencing that world through innocent eyes; when I reflect on her stories feel as though I am there with her. 

This is true for many of the stories told to me by friends and acquaintances over the ages. They tell me their stories; idyllic, fantastic, painful or matter of fact, providing a road map from then to now, allowing me to create a vivid portrait of their youth.  

I love hearing these tales. 

I find that much of what I write is built upon my own childhood experiences, perhaps even sharing too much of myself in that process. But I feel there is something important in reflecting on youth, ours and others, because there is beauty in that place. 

A place I believe often avoided, for good or bad.

There is an intimacy in sharing tales of the past. It connects us to one another, allowing us to compare and contrast our lives, finding common ground, adventuring into the unique and unknown, or empathizing when called for. 

I have said in the past that I wish I could see the world as others do. I have also lamented in my inability to recapture the imagination of my youth. But I do take solace in the fact that I can share my own experiences, and discover those of others. 

Every tale is unique, offering insight toward our world.