A spontaneous expression of exuberance

Sometimes as teenagers we would each, in our own way, talk in an exaggerated fashion about all manner of things, quite loudly so that those around would hear. At first, what we said was for ourselves and personal but those around would give us friendly glances and smile. Thus encouraged, we carried on so that the whole atmosphere became lighter and more human. The feeling was similar I think to seeing lambs frolicking in spring, and should anyone of the onlookers have chastised us for our daring to express our feelings and thoughts so openly; that would have been to do us a great wrong. We would surely have curled up and died in some way, lost our freedom of expression, become less of what we were intended to be. Oh we’d have been quiet, yes. Restrained? Yes. Puppets perhaps? Yes, even puppet-like, and surely there are enough of those already!

The puppets were like us at some stage of their development, so they were like us in their experience of their life, and someone looked at them the wrong way, said the wrong thing, did not respond to their openness with tolerance, humour and acceptance. Eventually they became stunted, closed in, wrapped in a cocoon which stopped their unique individual growth.

It was only for a short time you understand, this frolicking and sheer — almost wanton and yet non-destructive — enjoyment of our human freedom, for we had to grow up. Now there’s a stultifying, depressing, dehumanising and killing phrase, like the thrust of a spear against an unprotected belly in an attempt to stop some basic expression of enjoyment. And it must have had its effect on the thruster too, restricting and reinforcing the cocoon-forming ability they’d acquired.

Once a young woman said something to me when I had been enjoying, with others, a moment or two of self-expressive, audience-appreciating happiness. She had such a sad look on her face as she spoke to me. ‘Oh, I will be pleased when you’ve settled down to a quieter and more useful life, instead of doing this sort of thing. You were meant for better things you know.’ And there it was the thrust of the spear. Intended not merely to prick and burst the balloon of my selfness but to destroy it and make me more like her. Did she realise that? As she put her head gently on her pillow in the quiet deadness of her own ‘grown-up’ self, did she wonder if she’d been successful?

On this occasion she failed. Yet there was something calm and yet disturbing in her manner as she looked at me, a glint akin to sharpened daggers in her eyes. And yet there was something in me, flushed, warm and happy with the company of those who’d enjoyed my moment with them, which kept my mind intact. She did not at that time kill but she did plant a seed I think, for I hardly ever after that enjoyed quite as deeply such a spontaneous expression of exuberance.

Dennis Crompton © 1996

(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)