Friend of my Youth

Last night I was flipping through the channels and came across the movie "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" on CBC. That was one of my favourite books growing up. I didn't watch very much of the film because I've never thought it did the book justice. I used to believe that no movie could ever live up to a really great book, but I've come around a bit. Some movies are as good and better than the book they're based upon. "The Firm" is one. In fact, I think it was the first movie based on a book I had read that I thought was equally as good as the book. The key I think was that they focused on making a good movie rather than trying to stick explicitly to what had happened in the book. Of course, now I'm not a fan of John Grisham anymore. I still enjoy his earlier novels but like Stephen King I think he gave up quality for quantity. It's pretty much impossible to produce a couple of really high quality novels every year for dozens of years in a row. But the early books were really good.

Anyway, last night I was again reminded of one of my favourite reading experiences as a child when I stumbled upon this movie. Just thinking about that book transported me back in time. I closed my eyes and felt like the little girl lying on her bed racing through the pages to find out what happens next. I remember how I would suddenly stop reading and fold the book across my chest. I would close my eyes and imagine my bed had the same magical powers as the one in the book . . . and in my mind I would travel the world. I could feel my hair whipping in the wind and the chill in the air from being so high in the sky. I would travel to London, Paris and Rome. I would visit the pyramids, the Grand Canyon and DisneyWorld. I would land in the jungle and climb trees with the monkeys. I would join archaeologists on digs in South America. I would narrowly escape bullets and bombs in war-torn nations. There was nothing I couldn't do, nowhere I couldn't go. I met the most interesting people and had many exciting adventures.

Last night as all of this came back to me I realised the best part of that book had been the stories it inspired in me. I spent hours alone in my room with that book folded across my chest, imagining places and people and their stories. I was a fat little girl -- shy, smart, sensitive. I didn't have many friends. I didn't particularly enjoy school, or at least the social aspect of school. I didn't like to do a lot of the things that other kids enjoyed like sports, drawing, outside games. I faked sickness when I knew my best friend was going to miss a day. At home my sisters were quite a bit younger than me so I spent a lot of time playing alone. I have some terrible traumatic memories of school, particularly elementary school, grades 1-6. (By seventh grade I found drugs and became apathetic to everything and everyone.) But some of my best memories of childhood happened at home either in my room or outside in the woods when I was all alone and I would just close my eyes and let the stories unfold in my mind. I don't ever remember feeling lonely when I was alone, though I do remember feeling lonely at school where there were dozens of kids around. At home, in the quiet, I had a best friend, the most important friend I've ever known -- me.

I'm glad I ran across that movie last night, it reminded me of what's truly important. All sorts of crap can happen around me, but when push comes to shove, no matter what, I've always got me. It's always been me, since I was a kid. I am my own best friend, and I've never been better or stronger than I am right now.

Mood: I'd rather not say
Drinking: ditto
Listening To: ditto again
Hair: and again, ditto