Memories are made of this

One of my mother’s favourite stories from my childhood is about the day I demonstrated why I would not go on to become a great archaeologist, but more of a demolition man.

Although I have no recollection of the event – I was only four or five at the time – I trust that she has not added any tails to the tale and that she sticks to the exact details when she recollects this.

According to mother, she of-ten took me along when going shopping at the OK Bazaars in the town centre.

It must have been 1972 or ’73.This was not out of the ordinary as she was a stay-at-home mum at the time and couldn’t just leave me home alone.

According to her memory, there was a gigantic pyramid in the entrance to the shop on this specific day, constructed from rolls of toilet paper. You guessed it.

While all the other children and parents marvelled at the engineering skills of the OK staff, I managed to deconstruct the pyramid with a single, perfectly aimed kick. Almost half a century later, my mother still laughs when she tells this history.

Another story my mother often recollects, but not with fondness, is the day my sister and I went missing.

On holiday in Margate, also in the early ’70s, we discovered a “secret entrance” to the pool area of a five-star hotel on the beachfront.

We spent an entire morning living la dolce vita while mom and dad were frantic, commandeering all the life-savers and other volunteers to assist in the search for the missing children.

There are two memories from that day etched into my brain: the first is that it was the day I acquired the self-taught skill to dive into a pool; the second is the way she cried and hugged me when, hours later, I ran up to her to brag about it.

I decided to share these two memories today because today marks International Missing Children’s Day.

My wish, for all the frantic parents out there, is that you will also cry tears of joy and relief.