Growing up with A. A. Milne
I never did, I never did, I never did like
"Now take care, dear!"
I never did, I never did, I never did want
"Hold-my-hand";
I never did, I never did, I never did think much of
"Not up there, dear!"
It’s no good saying it. They don’t understand.
--"Independence"
The volume I hold most dear is a collection of poems by A. A. Milne, titled When We Were Very Young. Its pages are now yellowed, and its ragged paperback cover is taped on. The poems it contains, many of which I have devoted to memory, represent the touching innocence and hope of childhood. The poems entertained me for hours on end when I was younger, and I can still hear the voices my aunt used for Piglet, Eeyore, and the rest of the gang when she read to me in bed. Now these poems carry meanings greater than the pleasure of the rhyme. Among my favorite selections are "Independence," "Disobedience," and "The Dormouse and The Doctor."
"Independence" expresses the frustration common to children, teenagers, and even adults in some cases. It defiantly airs the sentiment "I can take care of myself!" that is a natural response to instruction from someone older and wiser. Concise and amusing , "Independence" reminds me that my rebellious inclinations are a normal part of life even though I may feel alone in my frustrations.
"Disobedience" recounts in driving rhythm the story of a boy who told his mother not to go to the end of town. She went anyhow and was never heard from again. The reversal of parent-child roles shows that children can sometimes know what’s best, and that parents can sometimes be stubborn and make mistakes. Reading about a child who "took great care of his mother though he was only three" consoled me when, at age ten, my parents separated and I was left to "take care" of my mother in the ways I could. If she didn’t need instructions on where not to go visiting, she at least needed some constant upon which she could depend, and I tried to support her in this way.
"The Dormouse and the Doctor" is my favorite poem. It recounts the tale of a dormouse who enjoys his bed of geraniums and dephiniums is told by a doctor that being surrounded by chrysanthemums is better for his health. The dormouse sighs and acknowledges that the doctor must be right, but, still yearning for his red and blue flowers, he lies in bed with his paws to his eyes pretending that all he sees are his beloved geraniums and delphiniums. This poem illustrates the power of the imagination as a source of comfort. Growing up necessarily involves giving up certain ideals and practices. When I can’t control my situation, or when I know it’s in my best interest to do what’s expected though I feel like I’m losing something dear to me, I never forget that my thoughts are free. Though I may conform on the outside, I can harbor any treacherous thoughts in my head with impunity and find comfort and amusement in my memories and imagination.