They say that you understand that you are growing up, from the times you look back to the past and old memories. It may be so. But it can also be the nostalgia you feel for something really beautiful, innocent, carefree (sometimes even risky) of then, which is missing today. And if you have a child, then the differences are yours childhood with his, they bring you a little melancholy.
The world is changing. These "devil tricks" that my grandmother used to say, everything new that was coming technologically, have now become an integral part of the daily life of today's children. The time that passes and the adults run to catch him, has dragged - necessarily in some cases - the children today, who even the summers, the time of carefree, follow a specific program and schedule.
And how strange this sounds, when in our summers there was no time. There was only morning, noon rest and evening. Neither time, nor date. The only time we were interested in how much of the month we have, was just for a festival we were looking forward to.
But to be honest, in limiting the spontaneity of children, we today's parents are also to blame. Unlike ours, we are more frightened, reverently follow their rules of protection and tremble at the sight of a bloody knee. When we used to take her out in the body of the farm, we rode a bike without brakes (now it does not mean that the child does not have a helmet) and our feet were full of bumps and bruises, while when we cursed, we put a little saliva and the wound was okay!
Okay, scary. And now I understand my grandmother, who always said to me "a saint keeps you with what you do". But to be honest, these moments that are now sweet memories, I do not change them with anything. And I feel lucky to have raised her 80s in a village and specifically in Kryoneri, Corinth (let's say that too). And those who spent their childhoods like that, I'm sure they agree. Because, if you have not drunk water from the hose and you did not go to all the children of the neighborhood for a swim on the body of the farm, you do not belong to the group.
But let us remember what we did as children in the summers:
Classics. The ice cream count usually started on Easter Sunday, when we first ate. And it went on all summer. We also ate two ice creams a day. My favorites: Trinita, Chicago, Carabola (for the gift) and Togo. I did not do the rocket well and because I eat slowly, in the end it melted and I was scattered everywhere. So cups were the safe choice. Of course, in the count, the theft was a cloud and we even managed to count 200 ice creams each.
It was kind of like that with the bathrooms. Because I grew up in a village, we did not go swimming every day. Sundays were always dedicated to the sea, while on weekdays if the parents did not have jobs on the estates, we went. In fact, we arranged the whole neighborhood. Any parent who could, would pick up the neighborhood children, get on the farm car and go for a swim in Kiato. Now that I think about it, it's a bit of a shame, but then we were thankful.
We woke up late. Usually, around 10 in the morning, we drank the milk - in the summers it had goat's milk, which I hated as it smelled and I had watered all the pots - and we left for a game. Because the sun was shining, we usually sat at home or in a storehouse or shed and played casually or chatted and talked about our feelings.
Lunch after dinner was the time of rest. I never liked the nap, but because my parents had returned from the estate and wanted to rest, the command was "you will not make a fuss". So, I would sit on the balcony and without making a fuss, I would read my older sister's "KA" magazine, a little "Manina" or put on the walkman that my uncle had brought from Canada and listen Anna Vissi and Alexia. Did you say something?
In the afternoon, all the children in the neighborhood went out to play and the situation seemed a bit… semi-wild. Boys and girls played together. we were playing football in the fields they had harvested and I remember our feet were all scratches from the reeds that were left.
We rode a bicycle (we also put a box to make noise like racing), we played rope, tire, lame, hidden, lost treasure, hunting, but also games of our own inspiration. The game lasted until late at night.
But the memories, of course, do not stop here.
We ate watermelon and spat the seeds. In fact, we made a competition who will throw the stone farther.
We climbed the trees.
If we did not have cherries in our house, no problem. We went to the neighbor and stole cherries. Others were holding chilies and the rest were picking cherries. We put them on our blouse and left. And here I remember my mother shouting because the blouse was painted. Especially when we were picking sour cherries. He said "difficult stain", but then I heard words that were incomprehensible.
We drank water from the hose. Pure enjoyment. We waited, of course, for the water to run a little first, for the hot sun to burn and the green slime to come out of the hose to go away, and then we drank all the children in a row.
We ate beaten egg. Don't tell me, you do not know what it is. Well, we beat the egg yolk well with a spoon (full of sugar) and a spoonful of cocoa and it became a fluffy cream that I then ate with pleasure. Now, I can not even think of it as an idea.
We ate a slice of sourdough bread, which we watered with water and sprinkled with sugar and cocoa. Or plain with sugar.
We ate fried bread from the dough that was left over from the bread that mom had kneaded.
We went to the village fountain and caught frogs.
We were fighting with each other's children. There were also vendettas.
We made phone calls. Especially us girls to the boys we liked.
We climbed - again - in the carriage and went with the parents to the estate. One of my worst memories
We were waiting for the village festival. Piglet, dance, toys. We also did our best.
We ate vanilla (the well-known submarine) in the afternoons. A large tablespoon in cold water. Enjoyment.
We drank homemade sour cherries.
In the evenings we would gather the children of the neighborhood and tell stories, mainly of horror.
Many girls were shooting in the summer. They had to make their dowry.
Others learned to cook and do the housework properly.
At sea, no, when we went, we were little Huns. We dived from the rocks, we were looking for sea urchins, we pressed each other.
In the summer, the boys had made their Panathinaikos, Olympiakos and AEK uniforms second nature. And because we also wore the clothes of the older sisters, you also saw girls in Mavridi shirts! Am, how.
Of course, the girls did not part with the wooden clogs and the sandals with the colorful laces that tied up to the knee.
And this when we wore shoes, because most of the day we ran barefoot.