Words make formidable fences, rising to tower above us, easily reinforced with yet more words if they prove not to be sufficiently strong.
My parents made their fences from sentences that started “People like us don’t…” and for 14 years I contentedly lived behind those fences, made secure by other words that…
Words make formidable fences, rising to tower above us, easily reinforced with yet more words if they prove not to be sufficiently strong.
My parents made their fences from sentences that started “People like us don’t…” and for 14 years I contentedly lived behind those fences, made secure by other words that encouraged me to ‘Work hard at school” and “Look for a good job”. I was never conscious of the contradiction at the heart of that domestic claustrophobia. I was stifled within the fences.
Until I found that beyond the fence there was the possibility of a life spent more easily outdoors. I met people who appeared not to recognise those same fences; who walked, and ran, and climbed, and swam and talked of places that existed only in my dreams. They led me to believe that words could also be used to make ladders, indeed that words were in many ways better suited to fashioning ladders than building fences. I decided to become a ladder-maker.
Suddenly discovering that they had raised a ladder-maker came as a shock to my parents. They raised their fences higher and made impassioned statements “People like us can’t have lives beyond the fence”. I challenged them, showing them my story-ladders, “I met somebody who….”, “It’s really cheap to go….” “I’m reading this book…” My challenges only seemed to provoke them, I had to acknowledge that for some reason they needed the fences that I was trying so hard to leave behind.
Finally, at 16, my story-ladders grew stronger and higher than their fences, I traded the security of their home for the uncertain freedoms of independence, knowing that when I encountered other fences, in other places, my story-ladders were always a means of escape.
I love this, Geoff. This concept of fences and ladders, yes, the child-who-was-me in a different part of the country but the same class, responded so strongly to the physicality of this - the barriers are felt as material ones, and the effort involved in getting free of them, that too requires a set of tools. Really felt for you, as I did for my mum in the stories she has told of her ambitious youth, with those phrases you've shared. So much energy going into persuading and asking permission, instead of it going straight into the adventures themselves.
And then the joy of that last paragraph. You got over and out...
So powerful, this morphing from word fences to story ladders, your story of resistance and resilience, people who confuse confinement with protection, made me think of how I often fence myself in.
The Parable of the Ladder Maker
Words make formidable fences, rising to tower above us, easily reinforced with yet more words if they prove not to be sufficiently strong.
My parents made their fences from sentences that started “People like us don’t…” and for 14 years I contentedly lived behind those fences, made secure by other words that encouraged me to ‘Work hard at school” and “Look for a good job”. I was never conscious of the contradiction at the heart of that domestic claustrophobia. I was stifled within the fences.
Until I found that beyond the fence there was the possibility of a life spent more easily outdoors. I met people who appeared not to recognise those same fences; who walked, and ran, and climbed, and swam and talked of places that existed only in my dreams. They led me to believe that words could also be used to make ladders, indeed that words were in many ways better suited to fashioning ladders than building fences. I decided to become a ladder-maker.
Suddenly discovering that they had raised a ladder-maker came as a shock to my parents. They raised their fences higher and made impassioned statements “People like us can’t have lives beyond the fence”. I challenged them, showing them my story-ladders, “I met somebody who….”, “It’s really cheap to go….” “I’m reading this book…” My challenges only seemed to provoke them, I had to acknowledge that for some reason they needed the fences that I was trying so hard to leave behind.
Finally, at 16, my story-ladders grew stronger and higher than their fences, I traded the security of their home for the uncertain freedoms of independence, knowing that when I encountered other fences, in other places, my story-ladders were always a means of escape.
I love this, Geoff. This concept of fences and ladders, yes, the child-who-was-me in a different part of the country but the same class, responded so strongly to the physicality of this - the barriers are felt as material ones, and the effort involved in getting free of them, that too requires a set of tools. Really felt for you, as I did for my mum in the stories she has told of her ambitious youth, with those phrases you've shared. So much energy going into persuading and asking permission, instead of it going straight into the adventures themselves.
And then the joy of that last paragraph. You got over and out...
Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/voices/#geoffcox
Thank you so much for continuing to be part of this project, even while you are working so hard on your memoir. It's good to have you here.
Txx
So powerful, this morphing from word fences to story ladders, your story of resistance and resilience, people who confuse confinement with protection, made me think of how I often fence myself in.
A wonderful read Geoff as I reread and nod along with it all!
So many similarities indeed.
Thank you.
Loved this, Geoff - well done for realising you could escape all that at such a young age.
My favorite line is, "my story-ladders grew stronger and higher than their fences."
Excellent writing, Geoff ... the whole idea of 'looking over the fences guarding aspiration'. Wonderful
Loved reading this Geoff. I recognise some of those phrases you mention all too well.