#childhood — Public Fediverse posts

RE: https://mastodon.scot/@linamahmoud/117321942588924740

boost lina's post if you haven't forgotten the children of gaza.
#childhood #peace #palestine

RE: https://mastodon.scot/@linamahmoud/117321942588924740

boost lina's post if you haven't forgotten the children of gaza.
#childhood #peace #palestine

RE: https://mastodon.scot/@linamahmoud/117321942588924740

boost lina's post if you haven't forgotten the children of gaza.
#childhood #peace #palestine

RE: https://mastodon.scot/@linamahmoud/117321942588924740

boost lina's post if you haven't forgotten the children of gaza.
#childhood #peace #palestine

RE: https://mastodon.scot/@linamahmoud/117321942588924740

boost lina's post if you haven't forgotten the children of gaza.
#childhood #peace #palestine

https://www.europesays.com/ie/702887/ Woodland Creatures Inhabit an Imaginary World in Kanako Abe’s Intricate Paper Cuts — Colossal #animals #Arts #ArtsAndDesign #ArtsAndDesign #ArtsDesign #childhood #Children'sBook #Collage #Design #Éire #Entertainment #folklore #IE #Ireland #KanakoAbe #narrative #paper

My Goldilocks Moments

How you dream of places when you’re not there! It’s hard to remember that this moment right now is just right. This is a future memory, make the most of it.

It’s like kids trying on clothes in the morning before school:

“These joggers are too big.”

“These joggers are too small.”

“These joggers aren’t just right, but they’ll do!”

“Wait a minute! These new joggers just became my favorite!” my gymnast kid proclaims. And then does a cartwheel, the ultimate test. Yes, they do the trick!

His brother has trouble dressing for the weather, as his mind is always in a different season.

The same kid who, in perfectly nice Finnish summer weather of 26°C, says it’s too cold to swim and wants to dress in layers then happily goes out to play football in 14°C rain wearing shorts and a tshirt. Do kids get cold? It depends on what the day’s plan is!

My mind drifts back to the Antibes of my photos. Dreamy moments. My gymnast kid’s mind goes in another direction:

”I saw a snake so small that he probably thought he was a worm. He was in the city. The small city snake politely waited before crossing the road.” (The End.)

I love storytelling and Goldilocks is definitely based on real life! The bears represent the family members that go with the flow, while Goldie is a Star and deserves no less than the princess who slept on top of a pea. But these things happen in real life, too. We are all Goldilocks at some point.

Every time I take the tram, I have to buy a ticket at the tram stop. There are no paper tickets: it’s done on an app that directs you to another app where you pay using your Face ID. As you can imagine, this is extremely slow (takes multiple seconds!) and usually I can see the tram coming while I anxiously wait for the electronic ticket to appear on my phone, accompanied by a reassuring swish sound.

But the Face ID is very “Goldilocks.” For it to recognise me, I have to tell myself, “Look alive!” and put on a neutral expression. No smile, no sunglasses, no squinting at the sun, no visible distress from the process or from seeing the tram getting closer and closer, and definitely no double chin. The angle of the phone must be just right! The eyes must be as open as possible! Look directly at the camera and hold! When all the circumstances are just right, the magic happens and I get my ticket.

Meanwhile, the Antibes of my memories continues its eternal summer.

The photos are from Antibes, France, June 2026.

My Goldilocks Moments

How you dream of places when you’re not there! It’s hard to remember that this moment right now is just right. This is a future memory, make the most of it.

It’s like kids trying on clothes in the morning before school:

“These joggers are too big.”

“These joggers are too small.”

“These joggers aren’t just right, but they’ll do!”

“Wait a minute! These new joggers just became my favorite!” my gymnast kid proclaims. And then does a cartwheel, the ultimate test. Yes, they do the trick!

His brother has trouble dressing for the weather, as his mind is always in a different season.

The same kid who, in perfectly nice Finnish summer weather of 26°C, says it’s too cold to swim and wants to dress in layers then happily goes out to play football in 14°C rain wearing shorts and a tshirt. Do kids get cold? It depends on what the day’s plan is!

My mind drifts back to the Antibes of my photos. Dreamy moments. My gymnast kid’s mind goes in another direction:

”I saw a snake so small that he probably thought he was a worm. He was in the city. The small city snake politely waited before crossing the road.” (The End.)

I love storytelling and Goldilocks is definitely based on real life! The bears represent the family members that go with the flow, while Goldie is a Star and deserves no less than the princess who slept on top of a pea. But these things happen in real life, too. We are all Goldilocks at some point.

Every time I take the tram, I have to buy a ticket at the tram stop. There are no paper tickets: it’s done on an app that directs you to another app where you pay using your Face ID. As you can imagine, this is extremely slow (takes multiple seconds!) and usually I can see the tram coming while I anxiously wait for the electronic ticket to appear on my phone, accompanied by a reassuring swish sound.

But the Face ID is very “Goldilocks.” For it to recognise me, I have to tell myself, “Look alive!” and put on a neutral expression. No smile, no sunglasses, no squinting at the sun, no visible distress from the process or from seeing the tram getting closer and closer, and definitely no double chin. The angle of the phone must be just right! The eyes must be as open as possible! Look directly at the camera and hold! When all the circumstances are just right, the magic happens and I get my ticket.

Meanwhile, the Antibes of my memories continues its eternal summer.

The photos are from Antibes, France, June 2026.

My Goldilocks Moments

How you dream of places when you’re not there! It’s hard to remember that this moment right now is just right. This is a future memory, make the most of it.

It’s like kids trying on clothes in the morning before school:

“These joggers are too big.”

“These joggers are too small.”

“These joggers aren’t just right, but they’ll do!”

“Wait a minute! These new joggers just became my favorite!” my gymnast kid proclaims. And then does a cartwheel, the ultimate test. Yes, they do the trick!

His brother has trouble dressing for the weather, as his mind is always in a different season.

The same kid who, in perfectly nice Finnish summer weather of 26°C, says it’s too cold to swim and wants to dress in layers then happily goes out to play football in 14°C rain wearing shorts and a tshirt. Do kids get cold? It depends on what the day’s plan is!

My mind drifts back to the Antibes of my photos. Dreamy moments. My gymnast kid’s mind goes in another direction:

”I saw a snake so small that he probably thought he was a worm. He was in the city. The small city snake politely waited before crossing the road.” (The End.)

I love storytelling and Goldilocks is definitely based on real life! The bears represent the family members that go with the flow, while Goldie is a Star and deserves no less than the princess who slept on top of a pea. But these things happen in real life, too. We are all Goldilocks at some point.

Every time I take the tram, I have to buy a ticket at the tram stop. There are no paper tickets: it’s done on an app that directs you to another app where you pay using your Face ID. As you can imagine, this is extremely slow (takes multiple seconds!) and usually I can see the tram coming while I anxiously wait for the electronic ticket to appear on my phone, accompanied by a reassuring swish sound.

But the Face ID is very “Goldilocks.” For it to recognise me, I have to tell myself, “Look alive!” and put on a neutral expression. No smile, no sunglasses, no squinting at the sun, no visible distress from the process or from seeing the tram getting closer and closer, and definitely no double chin. The angle of the phone must be just right! The eyes must be as open as possible! Look directly at the camera and hold! When all the circumstances are just right, the magic happens and I get my ticket.

Meanwhile, the Antibes of my memories continues its eternal summer.

The photos are from Antibes, France, June 2026.

My Goldilocks Moments

How you dream of places when you’re not there! It’s hard to remember that this moment right now is just right. This is a future memory, make the most of it.

It’s like kids trying on clothes in the morning before school:

“These joggers are too big.”

“These joggers are too small.”

“These joggers aren’t just right, but they’ll do!”

“Wait a minute! These new joggers just became my favorite!” my gymnast kid proclaims. And then does a cartwheel, the ultimate test. Yes, they do the trick!

His brother has trouble dressing for the weather, as his mind is always in a different season.

The same kid who, in perfectly nice Finnish summer weather of 26°C, says it’s too cold to swim and wants to dress in layers then happily goes out to play football in 14°C rain wearing shorts and a tshirt. Do kids get cold? It depends on what the day’s plan is!

My mind drifts back to the Antibes of my photos. Dreamy moments. My gymnast kid’s mind goes in another direction:

”I saw a snake so small that he probably thought he was a worm. He was in the city. The small city snake politely waited before crossing the road.” (The End.)

I love storytelling and Goldilocks is definitely based on real life! The bears represent the family members that go with the flow, while Goldie is a Star and deserves no less than the princess who slept on top of a pea. But these things happen in real life, too. We are all Goldilocks at some point.

Every time I take the tram, I have to buy a ticket at the tram stop. There are no paper tickets: it’s done on an app that directs you to another app where you pay using your Face ID. As you can imagine, this is extremely slow (takes multiple seconds!) and usually I can see the tram coming while I anxiously wait for the electronic ticket to appear on my phone, accompanied by a reassuring swish sound.

But the Face ID is very “Goldilocks.” For it to recognise me, I have to tell myself, “Look alive!” and put on a neutral expression. No smile, no sunglasses, no squinting at the sun, no visible distress from the process or from seeing the tram getting closer and closer, and definitely no double chin. The angle of the phone must be just right! The eyes must be as open as possible! Look directly at the camera and hold! When all the circumstances are just right, the magic happens and I get my ticket.

Meanwhile, the Antibes of my memories continues its eternal summer.

The photos are from Antibes, France, June 2026.

My Goldilocks Moments

How you dream of places when you’re not there! It’s hard to remember that this moment right now is just right. This is a future memory, make the most of it.

It’s like kids trying on clothes in the morning before school:

“These joggers are too big.”

“These joggers are too small.”

“These joggers aren’t just right, but they’ll do!”

“Wait a minute! These new joggers just became my favorite!” my gymnast kid proclaims. And then does a cartwheel, the ultimate test. Yes, they do the trick!

His brother has trouble dressing for the weather, as his mind is always in a different season.

The same kid who, in perfectly nice Finnish summer weather of 26°C, says it’s too cold to swim and wants to dress in layers then happily goes out to play football in 14°C rain wearing shorts and a tshirt. Do kids get cold? It depends on what the day’s plan is!

My mind drifts back to the Antibes of my photos. Dreamy moments. My gymnast kid’s mind goes in another direction:

”I saw a snake so small that he probably thought he was a worm. He was in the city. The small city snake politely waited before crossing the road.” (The End.)

I love storytelling and Goldilocks is definitely based on real life! The bears represent the family members that go with the flow, while Goldie is a Star and deserves no less than the princess who slept on top of a pea. But these things happen in real life, too. We are all Goldilocks at some point.

Every time I take the tram, I have to buy a ticket at the tram stop. There are no paper tickets: it’s done on an app that directs you to another app where you pay using your Face ID. As you can imagine, this is extremely slow (takes multiple seconds!) and usually I can see the tram coming while I anxiously wait for the electronic ticket to appear on my phone, accompanied by a reassuring swish sound.

But the Face ID is very “Goldilocks.” For it to recognise me, I have to tell myself, “Look alive!” and put on a neutral expression. No smile, no sunglasses, no squinting at the sun, no visible distress from the process or from seeing the tram getting closer and closer, and definitely no double chin. The angle of the phone must be just right! The eyes must be as open as possible! Look directly at the camera and hold! When all the circumstances are just right, the magic happens and I get my ticket.

Meanwhile, the Antibes of my memories continues its eternal summer.

The photos are from Antibes, France, June 2026.

“An Ordinary Life” by John RC Potter

My earliest memory was my second birthday, sitting in my high chair in the kitchen of our family home. It was before the kitchen was renovated to include a large picture window. Previously, there were two long, old-fashioned storm windows on that wall, with a telephone sitting high in pride of place between them. You may ask how anyone can have a memory when they are only two years old. My own family has questioned it. However, I do remember that birthday and that day, and the memories in my mind’s eye are almost like a film flickering along from the past.

My birthday is on February 23rd, and my paternal grandfather’s birthday was two days earlier. So, on that day in 1960, two birthdays were being celebrated. I particularly remember the scene because I was sitting near the end of the table beside my mother, while my grandfather was at the other end in his ever-present plaid shirt and suspenders.

The day was particularly notable because my grandfather’s brothers and their wives were also present. In a matter of a few years, my grandfather and two of his brothers would depart this earth. I recall that my grandfather and his brothers looked so much alike, all balding with liver spots on the crown of their foreheads. Only the oldest brother, Uncle Will, was different in appearance, with a full head of white hair and a moustache. A few years later, he would remind me of Colonel Sanders of KFC fame.

Another early memory is of wandering away after supper. I barely remember it. I was a toddler, and always wanted to roam (which was an early indication of my need to roam even further afield than the farm, and head off across oceans to other lands). My mother was cooking supper, and my dad was in the barn. My older sisters were young, too, and no doubt playing in the house, the yard, or the barn. I was probably left in the care of my sisters, and they may have lost track of me. In any case, I headed off back the laneway that led to the barn, but extended past it into the more distant universe. to the corn and wheat fields that stretched to the back of our farm and ended in a small forest of trees. However, just past the barn and to the left of the laneway that receded into the distance, there was the swamp, and further yet, a small creek that meandered through our farm from north to south and then to the east, where it met up with the concession line on which we lived.

When my mother went outside to check with my sisters as to my whereabouts, I was no longer on the back step playing. My mother was naturally very concerned. A farm is a place not only of discovery, but also of danger. I was later told that, due to the sun setting and the evening proceeding on its daily path, my parents and our next-door neighbours set out in all directions to find the missing toddler. I can only imagine what went through my mother’s mind that evening. Had I tumbled into the creek, or wandered into the cow field and been trampled, or worse yet, had I been abducted from the front yard by a passing motorist with evil intentions?

All families have their legends and their lore, their memories and myths. The episode of the wandering toddler who disappeared one evening around suppertime was one in my life and in my family. For a few hours, it caused a sudden panic for my parents and great concern from our neighbours. However, it had a good ending, as we wish all such incidents did. It was my mother who found me late that evening in the middle of the swampland, sitting on a log, illuminated by a full moon, and singing happily as if I were ensconced in the safest place on earth.

The roamer and wanderer that was a part and parcel of my nature as a child continued throughout my childhood. I was fascinated by travel documentaries, by National Geographic, and by any information about traveling via airplane, boat, train, or even car. My parents were never in an airplane, although my father rode in a helicopter. I began traveling by airplane when a young adult. After moving overseas as an international educator, I was always in the air. My thirst for knowledge about other lands, languages, cultures, and peoples has taken me to approximately fifty countries, and I have lived in five.

During these travels and journeys – the physical as well as the metaphysical – I bore witness to defining incidents that are signposts on the journey of my life: more than one earthquake (Turkey and Indonesia), a political uprising (Indonesia), a tsunami (Bali, fortunately far from the epicenter), an aerial offensive (Israel), up to 50 degree heat (UAE), and shelter in a church in the middle of a raging, white-out conditions snow storm (Canada).

When I was born, I am certain that my parents had no idea where my life would take me. They probably thought it would take the natural course as theirs had done. It was assumed that I would take over the family farm, that I would settle down and have the same life and lifestyle as my parents and my grandparents, and thus similar to each generation previously. That did not happen. Like the settlers and explorers of generations earlier, deep inside me was the need to uproot myself, to experience the unknown, to chart another course, in a fashion and manner similar, no doubt, to my forebearers who departed from the British Isles (with branches from England, Scotland, and Ireland) in the early 1800s, heading for new horizons across the pond, an expression Canadians often use. Like them, seeking new opportunities, new vistas, and a new life: an ordinary life, made extraordinary by new and unfamiliar surroundings.

Originally published in “Fragmented Voices”

Copyright © 2026 John RC Potter
All Rights Reserved

“An Ordinary Life” by John RC Potter

My earliest memory was my second birthday, sitting in my high chair in the kitchen of our family home. It was before the kitchen was renovated to include a large picture window. Previously, there were two long, old-fashioned storm windows on that wall, with a telephone sitting high in pride of place between them. You may ask how anyone can have a memory when they are only two years old. My own family has questioned it. However, I do remember that birthday and that day, and the memories in my mind’s eye are almost like a film flickering along from the past.

My birthday is on February 23rd, and my paternal grandfather’s birthday was two days earlier. So, on that day in 1960, two birthdays were being celebrated. I particularly remember the scene because I was sitting near the end of the table beside my mother, while my grandfather was at the other end in his ever-present plaid shirt and suspenders.

The day was particularly notable because my grandfather’s brothers and their wives were also present. In a matter of a few years, my grandfather and two of his brothers would depart this earth. I recall that my grandfather and his brothers looked so much alike, all balding with liver spots on the crown of their foreheads. Only the oldest brother, Uncle Will, was different in appearance, with a full head of white hair and a moustache. A few years later, he would remind me of Colonel Sanders of KFC fame.

Another early memory is of wandering away after supper. I barely remember it. I was a toddler, and always wanted to roam (which was an early indication of my need to roam even further afield than the farm, and head off across oceans to other lands). My mother was cooking supper, and my dad was in the barn. My older sisters were young, too, and no doubt playing in the house, the yard, or the barn. I was probably left in the care of my sisters, and they may have lost track of me. In any case, I headed off back the laneway that led to the barn, but extended past it into the more distant universe. to the corn and wheat fields that stretched to the back of our farm and ended in a small forest of trees. However, just past the barn and to the left of the laneway that receded into the distance, there was the swamp, and further yet, a small creek that meandered through our farm from north to south and then to the east, where it met up with the concession line on which we lived.

When my mother went outside to check with my sisters as to my whereabouts, I was no longer on the back step playing. My mother was naturally very concerned. A farm is a place not only of discovery, but also of danger. I was later told that, due to the sun setting and the evening proceeding on its daily path, my parents and our next-door neighbours set out in all directions to find the missing toddler. I can only imagine what went through my mother’s mind that evening. Had I tumbled into the creek, or wandered into the cow field and been trampled, or worse yet, had I been abducted from the front yard by a passing motorist with evil intentions?

All families have their legends and their lore, their memories and myths. The episode of the wandering toddler who disappeared one evening around suppertime was one in my life and in my family. For a few hours, it caused a sudden panic for my parents and great concern from our neighbours. However, it had a good ending, as we wish all such incidents did. It was my mother who found me late that evening in the middle of the swampland, sitting on a log, illuminated by a full moon, and singing happily as if I were ensconced in the safest place on earth.

The roamer and wanderer that was a part and parcel of my nature as a child continued throughout my childhood. I was fascinated by travel documentaries, by National Geographic, and by any information about traveling via airplane, boat, train, or even car. My parents were never in an airplane, although my father rode in a helicopter. I began traveling by airplane when a young adult. After moving overseas as an international educator, I was always in the air. My thirst for knowledge about other lands, languages, cultures, and peoples has taken me to approximately fifty countries, and I have lived in five.

During these travels and journeys – the physical as well as the metaphysical – I bore witness to defining incidents that are signposts on the journey of my life: more than one earthquake (Turkey and Indonesia), a political uprising (Indonesia), a tsunami (Bali, fortunately far from the epicenter), an aerial offensive (Israel), up to 50 degree heat (UAE), and shelter in a church in the middle of a raging, white-out conditions snow storm (Canada).

When I was born, I am certain that my parents had no idea where my life would take me. They probably thought it would take the natural course as theirs had done. It was assumed that I would take over the family farm, that I would settle down and have the same life and lifestyle as my parents and my grandparents, and thus similar to each generation previously. That did not happen. Like the settlers and explorers of generations earlier, deep inside me was the need to uproot myself, to experience the unknown, to chart another course, in a fashion and manner similar, no doubt, to my forebearers who departed from the British Isles (with branches from England, Scotland, and Ireland) in the early 1800s, heading for new horizons across the pond, an expression Canadians often use. Like them, seeking new opportunities, new vistas, and a new life: an ordinary life, made extraordinary by new and unfamiliar surroundings.

Originally published in “Fragmented Voices”

Copyright © 2026 John RC Potter
All Rights Reserved

“An Ordinary Life” by John RC Potter

My earliest memory was my second birthday, sitting in my high chair in the kitchen of our family home. It was before the kitchen was renovated to include a large picture window. Previously, there were two long, old-fashioned storm windows on that wall, with a telephone sitting high in pride of place between them. You may ask how anyone can have a memory when they are only two years old. My own family has questioned it. However, I do remember that birthday and that day, and the memories in my mind’s eye are almost like a film flickering along from the past.

My birthday is on February 23rd, and my paternal grandfather’s birthday was two days earlier. So, on that day in 1960, two birthdays were being celebrated. I particularly remember the scene because I was sitting near the end of the table beside my mother, while my grandfather was at the other end in his ever-present plaid shirt and suspenders.

The day was particularly notable because my grandfather’s brothers and their wives were also present. In a matter of a few years, my grandfather and two of his brothers would depart this earth. I recall that my grandfather and his brothers looked so much alike, all balding with liver spots on the crown of their foreheads. Only the oldest brother, Uncle Will, was different in appearance, with a full head of white hair and a moustache. A few years later, he would remind me of Colonel Sanders of KFC fame.

Another early memory is of wandering away after supper. I barely remember it. I was a toddler, and always wanted to roam (which was an early indication of my need to roam even further afield than the farm, and head off across oceans to other lands). My mother was cooking supper, and my dad was in the barn. My older sisters were young, too, and no doubt playing in the house, the yard, or the barn. I was probably left in the care of my sisters, and they may have lost track of me. In any case, I headed off back the laneway that led to the barn, but extended past it into the more distant universe. to the corn and wheat fields that stretched to the back of our farm and ended in a small forest of trees. However, just past the barn and to the left of the laneway that receded into the distance, there was the swamp, and further yet, a small creek that meandered through our farm from north to south and then to the east, where it met up with the concession line on which we lived.

When my mother went outside to check with my sisters as to my whereabouts, I was no longer on the back step playing. My mother was naturally very concerned. A farm is a place not only of discovery, but also of danger. I was later told that, due to the sun setting and the evening proceeding on its daily path, my parents and our next-door neighbours set out in all directions to find the missing toddler. I can only imagine what went through my mother’s mind that evening. Had I tumbled into the creek, or wandered into the cow field and been trampled, or worse yet, had I been abducted from the front yard by a passing motorist with evil intentions?

All families have their legends and their lore, their memories and myths. The episode of the wandering toddler who disappeared one evening around suppertime was one in my life and in my family. For a few hours, it caused a sudden panic for my parents and great concern from our neighbours. However, it had a good ending, as we wish all such incidents did. It was my mother who found me late that evening in the middle of the swampland, sitting on a log, illuminated by a full moon, and singing happily as if I were ensconced in the safest place on earth.

The roamer and wanderer that was a part and parcel of my nature as a child continued throughout my childhood. I was fascinated by travel documentaries, by National Geographic, and by any information about traveling via airplane, boat, train, or even car. My parents were never in an airplane, although my father rode in a helicopter. I began traveling by airplane when a young adult. After moving overseas as an international educator, I was always in the air. My thirst for knowledge about other lands, languages, cultures, and peoples has taken me to approximately fifty countries, and I have lived in five.

During these travels and journeys – the physical as well as the metaphysical – I bore witness to defining incidents that are signposts on the journey of my life: more than one earthquake (Turkey and Indonesia), a political uprising (Indonesia), a tsunami (Bali, fortunately far from the epicenter), an aerial offensive (Israel), up to 50 degree heat (UAE), and shelter in a church in the middle of a raging, white-out conditions snow storm (Canada).

When I was born, I am certain that my parents had no idea where my life would take me. They probably thought it would take the natural course as theirs had done. It was assumed that I would take over the family farm, that I would settle down and have the same life and lifestyle as my parents and my grandparents, and thus similar to each generation previously. That did not happen. Like the settlers and explorers of generations earlier, deep inside me was the need to uproot myself, to experience the unknown, to chart another course, in a fashion and manner similar, no doubt, to my forebearers who departed from the British Isles (with branches from England, Scotland, and Ireland) in the early 1800s, heading for new horizons across the pond, an expression Canadians often use. Like them, seeking new opportunities, new vistas, and a new life: an ordinary life, made extraordinary by new and unfamiliar surroundings.

Originally published in “Fragmented Voices”

Copyright © 2026 John RC Potter
All Rights Reserved

“An Ordinary Life” by John RC Potter

My earliest memory was my second birthday, sitting in my high chair in the kitchen of our family home. It was before the kitchen was renovated to include a large picture window. Previously, there were two long, old-fashioned storm windows on that wall, with a telephone sitting high in pride of place between them. You may ask how anyone can have a memory when they are only two years old. My own family has questioned it. However, I do remember that birthday and that day, and the memories in my mind’s eye are almost like a film flickering along from the past.

My birthday is on February 23rd, and my paternal grandfather’s birthday was two days earlier. So, on that day in 1960, two birthdays were being celebrated. I particularly remember the scene because I was sitting near the end of the table beside my mother, while my grandfather was at the other end in his ever-present plaid shirt and suspenders.

The day was particularly notable because my grandfather’s brothers and their wives were also present. In a matter of a few years, my grandfather and two of his brothers would depart this earth. I recall that my grandfather and his brothers looked so much alike, all balding with liver spots on the crown of their foreheads. Only the oldest brother, Uncle Will, was different in appearance, with a full head of white hair and a moustache. A few years later, he would remind me of Colonel Sanders of KFC fame.

Another early memory is of wandering away after supper. I barely remember it. I was a toddler, and always wanted to roam (which was an early indication of my need to roam even further afield than the farm, and head off across oceans to other lands). My mother was cooking supper, and my dad was in the barn. My older sisters were young, too, and no doubt playing in the house, the yard, or the barn. I was probably left in the care of my sisters, and they may have lost track of me. In any case, I headed off back the laneway that led to the barn, but extended past it into the more distant universe. to the corn and wheat fields that stretched to the back of our farm and ended in a small forest of trees. However, just past the barn and to the left of the laneway that receded into the distance, there was the swamp, and further yet, a small creek that meandered through our farm from north to south and then to the east, where it met up with the concession line on which we lived.

When my mother went outside to check with my sisters as to my whereabouts, I was no longer on the back step playing. My mother was naturally very concerned. A farm is a place not only of discovery, but also of danger. I was later told that, due to the sun setting and the evening proceeding on its daily path, my parents and our next-door neighbours set out in all directions to find the missing toddler. I can only imagine what went through my mother’s mind that evening. Had I tumbled into the creek, or wandered into the cow field and been trampled, or worse yet, had I been abducted from the front yard by a passing motorist with evil intentions?

All families have their legends and their lore, their memories and myths. The episode of the wandering toddler who disappeared one evening around suppertime was one in my life and in my family. For a few hours, it caused a sudden panic for my parents and great concern from our neighbours. However, it had a good ending, as we wish all such incidents did. It was my mother who found me late that evening in the middle of the swampland, sitting on a log, illuminated by a full moon, and singing happily as if I were ensconced in the safest place on earth.

The roamer and wanderer that was a part and parcel of my nature as a child continued throughout my childhood. I was fascinated by travel documentaries, by National Geographic, and by any information about traveling via airplane, boat, train, or even car. My parents were never in an airplane, although my father rode in a helicopter. I began traveling by airplane when a young adult. After moving overseas as an international educator, I was always in the air. My thirst for knowledge about other lands, languages, cultures, and peoples has taken me to approximately fifty countries, and I have lived in five.

During these travels and journeys – the physical as well as the metaphysical – I bore witness to defining incidents that are signposts on the journey of my life: more than one earthquake (Turkey and Indonesia), a political uprising (Indonesia), a tsunami (Bali, fortunately far from the epicenter), an aerial offensive (Israel), up to 50 degree heat (UAE), and shelter in a church in the middle of a raging, white-out conditions snow storm (Canada).

When I was born, I am certain that my parents had no idea where my life would take me. They probably thought it would take the natural course as theirs had done. It was assumed that I would take over the family farm, that I would settle down and have the same life and lifestyle as my parents and my grandparents, and thus similar to each generation previously. That did not happen. Like the settlers and explorers of generations earlier, deep inside me was the need to uproot myself, to experience the unknown, to chart another course, in a fashion and manner similar, no doubt, to my forebearers who departed from the British Isles (with branches from England, Scotland, and Ireland) in the early 1800s, heading for new horizons across the pond, an expression Canadians often use. Like them, seeking new opportunities, new vistas, and a new life: an ordinary life, made extraordinary by new and unfamiliar surroundings.

Originally published in “Fragmented Voices”

Copyright © 2026 John RC Potter
All Rights Reserved

“An Ordinary Life” by John RC Potter

My earliest memory was my second birthday, sitting in my high chair in the kitchen of our family home. It was before the kitchen was renovated to include a large picture window. Previously, there were two long, old-fashioned storm windows on that wall, with a telephone sitting high in pride of place between them. You may ask how anyone can have a memory when they are only two years old. My own family has questioned it. However, I do remember that birthday and that day, and the memories in my mind’s eye are almost like a film flickering along from the past.

My birthday is on February 23rd, and my paternal grandfather’s birthday was two days earlier. So, on that day in 1960, two birthdays were being celebrated. I particularly remember the scene because I was sitting near the end of the table beside my mother, while my grandfather was at the other end in his ever-present plaid shirt and suspenders.

The day was particularly notable because my grandfather’s brothers and their wives were also present. In a matter of a few years, my grandfather and two of his brothers would depart this earth. I recall that my grandfather and his brothers looked so much alike, all balding with liver spots on the crown of their foreheads. Only the oldest brother, Uncle Will, was different in appearance, with a full head of white hair and a moustache. A few years later, he would remind me of Colonel Sanders of KFC fame.

Another early memory is of wandering away after supper. I barely remember it. I was a toddler, and always wanted to roam (which was an early indication of my need to roam even further afield than the farm, and head off across oceans to other lands). My mother was cooking supper, and my dad was in the barn. My older sisters were young, too, and no doubt playing in the house, the yard, or the barn. I was probably left in the care of my sisters, and they may have lost track of me. In any case, I headed off back the laneway that led to the barn, but extended past it into the more distant universe. to the corn and wheat fields that stretched to the back of our farm and ended in a small forest of trees. However, just past the barn and to the left of the laneway that receded into the distance, there was the swamp, and further yet, a small creek that meandered through our farm from north to south and then to the east, where it met up with the concession line on which we lived.

When my mother went outside to check with my sisters as to my whereabouts, I was no longer on the back step playing. My mother was naturally very concerned. A farm is a place not only of discovery, but also of danger. I was later told that, due to the sun setting and the evening proceeding on its daily path, my parents and our next-door neighbours set out in all directions to find the missing toddler. I can only imagine what went through my mother’s mind that evening. Had I tumbled into the creek, or wandered into the cow field and been trampled, or worse yet, had I been abducted from the front yard by a passing motorist with evil intentions?

All families have their legends and their lore, their memories and myths. The episode of the wandering toddler who disappeared one evening around suppertime was one in my life and in my family. For a few hours, it caused a sudden panic for my parents and great concern from our neighbours. However, it had a good ending, as we wish all such incidents did. It was my mother who found me late that evening in the middle of the swampland, sitting on a log, illuminated by a full moon, and singing happily as if I were ensconced in the safest place on earth.

The roamer and wanderer that was a part and parcel of my nature as a child continued throughout my childhood. I was fascinated by travel documentaries, by National Geographic, and by any information about traveling via airplane, boat, train, or even car. My parents were never in an airplane, although my father rode in a helicopter. I began traveling by airplane when a young adult. After moving overseas as an international educator, I was always in the air. My thirst for knowledge about other lands, languages, cultures, and peoples has taken me to approximately fifty countries, and I have lived in five.

During these travels and journeys – the physical as well as the metaphysical – I bore witness to defining incidents that are signposts on the journey of my life: more than one earthquake (Turkey and Indonesia), a political uprising (Indonesia), a tsunami (Bali, fortunately far from the epicenter), an aerial offensive (Israel), up to 50 degree heat (UAE), and shelter in a church in the middle of a raging, white-out conditions snow storm (Canada).

When I was born, I am certain that my parents had no idea where my life would take me. They probably thought it would take the natural course as theirs had done. It was assumed that I would take over the family farm, that I would settle down and have the same life and lifestyle as my parents and my grandparents, and thus similar to each generation previously. That did not happen. Like the settlers and explorers of generations earlier, deep inside me was the need to uproot myself, to experience the unknown, to chart another course, in a fashion and manner similar, no doubt, to my forebearers who departed from the British Isles (with branches from England, Scotland, and Ireland) in the early 1800s, heading for new horizons across the pond, an expression Canadians often use. Like them, seeking new opportunities, new vistas, and a new life: an ordinary life, made extraordinary by new and unfamiliar surroundings.

Originally published in “Fragmented Voices”

Copyright © 2026 John RC Potter
All Rights Reserved

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Wir suchen zwei Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterinnen/Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiter (w/m/d) im Bereich Empirische Bildungs- und Familienökonomik. Die Stellen sind in das DFG-Projekt „WODY – Wohlbefinden in einer digitalisierten Welt: Das deutsche Kinder- und Jugendpanel“ eingebettet.

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#BiB #PopulationResearch #Demography #EducationResearch #FamilyResearch #Digitalization #Childhood #YouthResearch #PhD #WissenschaftlicheKarriere

Wir suchen zwei Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterinnen/Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiter (w/m/d) im Bereich Empirische Bildungs- und Familienökonomik. Die Stellen sind in das DFG-Projekt „WODY – Wohlbefinden in einer digitalisierten Welt: Das deutsche Kinder- und Jugendpanel“ eingebettet.

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#BiB #PopulationResearch #Demography #EducationResearch #FamilyResearch #Digitalization #Childhood #YouthResearch #PhD #WissenschaftlicheKarriere

Wir suchen zwei Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterinnen/Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiter (w/m/d) im Bereich Empirische Bildungs- und Familienökonomik. Die Stellen sind in das DFG-Projekt „WODY – Wohlbefinden in einer digitalisierten Welt: Das deutsche Kinder- und Jugendpanel“ eingebettet.

👉 Weitere Infos: https://www.bib.bund.de/DE/Institut/Stellenangebote/stellenangebote.html

#BiB #PopulationResearch #Demography #EducationResearch #FamilyResearch #Digitalization #Childhood #YouthResearch #PhD #WissenschaftlicheKarriere