I don’t know how you feel about these young ‘celebrities’ who publish their biographies, their memoirs at the grand age of twenty. To me, it seems a little bit daft. If not a little bit sad and sorry. Do they really feel that they are at their peak, that their lives are over and that all they have left is to sit back in their dotage and reminisce?
So what happens when the ‘celebrity’ is retiring from their field and publishes their memoirs? Is there still any point? It may be the end of a particular chapter in their life but surely, as anyone with the wisdom of more than twenty years will tell you, there will be plenty of other chapters to come. However different. Or unexpected.
And if that ‘celebrity’ who has chosen to publish a biography, a memoir is a child of a mere six years? What has that child lived? What can that child remember? And what on earth was that child doing in its precocious early years to merit publishing such an account?
Sad and sorry seems to be an even more appropriate response is this particular situation. Tragic even. Does the poor child actually feel that their life is over? How do they see achievement and who is pushing them to it?
Do you remember being six?
Can you remember before you were six?
I don’t. Not really. Most of my life, the important things that have brought me to where I am today and to who I am today happened later. There were obviously incidents and memories that I can recall, especially if I spend some time in deep reflection or prompt myself with the help of a photo album.
My life at six was family, friends and school. Playing, making any number of paper projects, handknit jumpers. Nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t need to be, I was six. It was part of a longer life. A life which has had many different chapters, some very unexpected.