That I Grew Up in Panama

Along with many others, I've joined the throngs who are posting old photos on facebook every Thursday for Throwback Thursday.

In case I haven't said it enough:  I love pictures.  Especially pictures which include people I know.  And so I have no shortage of options when it comes to Throwback Thursday.

Today, the picture I found on an old jump drive I keep stored in a jewelry box was one I scanned many years ago (possibly a decade ago now).  A picture of me with two of my siblings, and we're all wearing the same shirt:  a sloth shirt with the genus and species of the sloth on it and the words Barro Colorado.

And in the background -- glimpses of the home of my youth.

And the memories come flooding back.  Oh how I love my memories.  Especially of my childhood spent in Panama.

In the years since I moved away from my first home, I have had many people ask me what it was like to grow up in Panama.  My response has always been the same:  It was normal.  Because up until I was almost an adult, it was all I knew.  And I didn't know to cherish it.  I didn't realize how unique it really was.  Because it was normal for me.

But now that I do know...  I know why it was so awesome.  And I am so grateful I was blessed to grow up in a place so beautiful and unique.

And here's why...  In a sort of stream of consciousness sort of way.

A safe neighborhood...  In recent years, I realize that not everyone is blessed to have that.  And it saddens me greatly that my little girl won't have quite the same opportunity.  I remember feeling completely safe to be wandering around our neighborhood at a very young age.  Barefoot, of course.  We were free to run and roam wherever we wanted to in the neighborhood, as long as we were home at a decent hour.  I remember one family's rule was that the kids could go anywhere as long as they could hear their dad's whistle and respond to it when they heard it.  I remember walking through the jungle -- usually with one of my siblings or a friend.  Because the jungle was just part of the neighborhood.  It was where we built forts or hunted for paint-balls that didn't explode during paint-ball wars.

Speaking of being bare-foot...  That was just normal.  These days, I can't even fathom the thought of going out without shoes.  I wonder how I will feel about it in regards to my kids.  But we never wore shoes to play.  And sure, we paid the price of getting stuck by the stickers (this awesome plant that grew in the grass -- and blended in well -- which, when touched, would close its leaves...  And, oh yeah, there were plenty of little thorns on them), but that was kind of part of the fun.  You kind of started memorizing where the sticker patches were anyway.

Awesome thunderstorms for 9 months out of the year...  Living in this part of Washington, we don't get a lot of thunder and lightning.  And I kind of miss it.  It was a huge part of my life until I moved here, because Alabama has them too.  But those Panama rain storms...  They brought fun!  The flooding ditches in back and down the hill of my house.  I'm sure we weren't supposed to play in the swollen ditches...  Especially at the point where several ditches converged and dumped into the sewer.  Because there was power in that pouring water.  And there was probably a reason there were huge metal bars (easily a foot in circumference) blocking the entrance to those sewage entries.  Kids could easily be swept away.

Rose apples...  Oh my goodness.  Rose apples.  I cannot express how much I wish those were a product that would be shipped in.  I only know of one rose apple tree in my neighborhood.  And I remember many a day when we kids would tromp up there, and I'd help hoist my sister into the tree so she could climb high and get the juicy good ones (before the bugs did).  How does one explain a rose apple?  They are pink when they aren't really ripe and when they are amazingly ripe, they are closer to a purple.  The flesh is white.  They are oblong.  And they are delicious.

And let's not forget the other amazing foods and food places...  The platanitos (fried plantain chips)...  Pizza Italia...  Sorento's...  Don Lee (Chinese food)...

Sliding down the hill...  On a slip and slide.  Or cardboard.  And some could even slide down in palm frond casings -- or whatever those were.  I never could.  But I sure did enjoy the cardboard sliding!  It was only really possible during dry season, when the grass was brown and dry.

Or exploring Clay Hill.  That was an awesome place.  Nooks and crannies.  And probably saw grass.  And clothes that got stained if you were playing around there in the rainy season.

The truth is, as I sit here reminiscing, my mind can barely keep up.  The memories are pinging around, and I smile.  And this brief list doesn't even really do it justice.  It was a beautiful place to grow up.  Especially in the area where I grew up.  We were blessed.  Blessed with beauty and safety.  I just didn't realize how much of both until they were gone.

I've been back since I moved away.  Once... in 2008.  It had been 10 years since I'd moved.  I made an effort to see (and take pictures) of a lot of the things I took for granted in my growing up years.  Those things I didn't realize I'd miss when I was gone.  Like being able to watch a ship go through the canal...  Or see army ants tearing away at fallen mangoes.  Or buying una paleta de guineo from the paleta man.  It was an amazing time I spent with my dad.  And we were blessed by a wonderful family we knew there who invited us to stay with them while we were there.  Which gave me the opportunity to see a huge tarantula up-close-and-personal as I was trying to go to bed...  But that's a story for another time.  It was an amazing time, but it was bittersweet.  In 10 years, so much had changed.  And though, intellectually, I knew that would be true...  Emotionally I guess I expected somehow to go back and see all as it had once been.  And when it wasn't...  Well, I understood that concept of You can't go home again.  And I'll admit it... I cried.

But even so, my memories remain unchanged.  And though I can't ever share exactly those experiences with my daughter and any future children we may have... I look forward to showing her the pictures and telling the stories.  Stories of a happy life, a happy childhood.  Stories of a beautiful place I once called home.

What are you grateful for today?