4. Little Big Pig

getting too big for the pen, the crib, and the britches

Hello friends,

Today I’m headed to the airport an international work trip. As I look over the the things I’ve gathered—electrical plug adapters for Spain and the United Kingdom, a travel umbrella, noise cancelling headphones, and cashmere sweaters—it’s hard to connect with the pictures from this week’s Fifty-Fifty installment. A three-year-old girl playing with a pig in a New Hampshire barnyard 50 years ago seems so far away my current state in both mindset and worldly knowledge.

Memories from these early years are hazy, occurring in impressions that are some combination of photos I’ve grown up with, stories I’ve been told, and actual memories. I remember living in the yellow house. I barely remember the pig, but I do remember the paper packages in the freezer. I remember getting too big for my crib when my feet started sticking out from between the bars.

My foray into making word art around 2014 surfaced many unconscious impressions from times long past. One piece that seems related to this age contains the words, “Don’t get too big for your britches say the bitches.” I don’t remember who the bitches were—we lived in a communal home with other families—but I do remember that awful expression meant to shut a girl down. However, saying it to a child who grows out of her clothes every six months is nonsensical. Like the pig, I would get bigger regardless of what they said.

Throughout my rural childhood, people called me “hoity-toity” and a “snob” because I excelled in school and had worldly tastes. My general reaction to these sorts of comments is the strengthening of an inner resolve to keep on being who I am, maybe just not in that person’s vicinity.

On Monday I’ll arrive in Madrid for a two-day company all-hands meeting and Thursday I’ll fly to London to meet with a supplier and then have a few days of fun. The three pairs of britches in my suitcase fit perfectly with my hoity-toity discount cashmere and I’ve loaded my Kindle with with a snobbish pile of books by Elena Ferrante and Naomi Klein. I’m glad I didn’t believe the bitches—but I do hope adults have become kinder in how they speak to children.

What common saying from your childhood do you now see as inappropriate? How did it affect you?

Write back or share in the comments.

May your week be filled with new expressions of hope, kindness, and mutual support.

Love,
Lee Ann