Things I did in my childhood have often been brought up and laughed about within my family. I’d laugh along too. But as I delve deeper into myself and look for spectrum clues these laughable memories are actually making more sense.
We have big Christmas gatherings with my extended family every year, I love Christmas. When I was 3 (I think) I broke down in tears (overwhelmed) because I’d had enough presents.
When I was 2-2.5 I could name all the different breeds of cattle we had in the paddocks. I can still name a few.
I had a teddy bear as a child, the ribbon around its neck I used to rub for comfort.
I talked early, and I talked a lot. This was thanks to my Mum who loves to talk and me being the oldest child having that extra one on one time I imagine. I asked a lot of questions and she answered them all. When my brother came along apparently I used to speak for him too. Until he hit me in the head with a hammer out of frustration from me doing this (I don’t remember this, Mum told me).
I used to love “sorting” other people’s things. I used to spend time with my Grandpa doing this with all of his train things, we used to “sort” through his garage. I loved it. Getting things in order. If there’s anyone else in my family who shows obvious signs of being on the spectrum it is my Grandfather.
I liked playing Lego with my brother. By the time I had built and arranged my “house” I didn’t want to play anymore. I don’t remember ever enjoying “role playing” with toys. I had Barbies. I remember getting $20 for my birthday (not sure what age) and I bought a beautiful “black” Barbie with brown hair with a blue bikini, I’m not sure what made me pick her over the standard blonde white Barbies. I don’t have racial prejudices and certainly didn’t back then, I just wonder why I would have chosen something so different to what my peers had at the time. My Mum said she questioned my decision at the time as to whether I was sure, and I was.
I studied the atlas to learn capital cities of countries and where everything was located in the world as a kid out of interest.
We used to go on family roadtrips with no set destination for a week at a time. I used to hate having picnics in parks, my Dad would often make fun of me that I was worried someone I knew would see me – I don’t think that was the reason I disliked them, but I can’t put my finger on why I did.
I hated having my hair brushed and washed. So, my Mum got it cut short. It looked horrible. I don’t brush my hair to this day! I hate when it gets caught in the wind and whips my face or touches my mouth or gets in my eyes. It’s curly and messy and always tied up. If I straighten it (which I love to do but can rarely be bothered, usually only for special occasions) I leave it ‘out’ for as long as I can but end up tying it back eventually (this frustrates my sister because she can’t understand why I bother straightening it only to tie it up).
I went through a stage of wearing “shirts”, like button up men’s shirts. Very much a tomboy. I look back at photos now and think “wow, really?” but I also remember now how comfortable and light the shirts felt to wear – my favourite was a light blue one I took out of my Dad’s wardrobe. Fashion has never been my forte.
I wrote stories/books. When I was in Kindergarten my teacher took one of these stories with her as part of a university assignment but she couldn’t use it as I had copyrighted it (put a ‘c’ with a circle around it). Lol.
I used to have a lot of big creative ideas, I’d get them started then lose interest and leave them unfinished. Example being painting half the chook shed – the bottom half, and I don’t know how many vegetable gardens I attempted to make when I was younger, I’d never quite get to the part where the seeds would be planted.
I loved “things”. I still do. I have lots of trinketety things still from when I was a kid. I had/have a big attachment to things people have given me. Each one reminds me of the person or memories associated. Basically I am a hoarder and my house is full of mismatching things and furniture.