My trip to Arabia occurred during the later years of my childhood with adolescence fast approaching. As a voracious reader I read anything I could get my small hands on from the nutritional information on cereal boxes to magazines and novels that were just a bit beyond my reading level. One of my favorite things to read and leaf through was the National Geographic magazine.
I don't remember the particulars but I know I read an article in National Geographic that was either entirely about or that made several mentions of T.E. Lawrence. As I often did I rushed off to my parents and regurgitated all that I had read, chattering away excitedly about the man called "Lawrence of Arabia". I was thrilled to find out from my Dad that there was a film about my newest obsession. We made a trip to the local library one afternoon not long after my Dad told me of the films existence. I rushed to where the videos (yes, VIDEOS) were and searched for the L's and once those were located I searched, as if I were looking for the Holy Grail, for the words "Lawrence of Arabia". I found my treasure and clutched it close to my chest and walked toward the check-out desk with my dad.
I don't remember anything after the library visit up until I was alone with the TV in my parents' room. I don't know what the rest of my family was doing but I'm sure I didn't mind being away from my three younger siblings, especially my very annoying brother #1. I popped the tape into the VCR and my adventure began.
I was a relatively attentive kid but physically sitting still while I paid attention was sometimes difficult. I either began my viewing of the film on the floor near the television or on the edge of my parents' California queen-sized bed, my two usual spots, but I somehow ended up on top of my brothers' rocking-horse that sat not far from the bed.
As the movie progressed the brown and white horse became a camel and I expertly tucked my ankle under my knee. Later I spotted my mom's brown leather purse and rushed toward it. I unclipped the strap from the bag, clipped the two ends together, and slung it across my chest in imitation of the British uniforms and returned to my ornery spitting camel. When airplanes attacked King Faisal's camp my camel once again became a horse, but this time a stunning Arabian bedecked in finery, and soon afterward it returned to being a camel. Whenever Lawrence and Co. were in peril (which happens quite often in the film) I clung to my mount, my heart pounding with anxiety, and their victories were met with barely concealed joy.
My interest in the film's technical merits was minimal, though (unbeknownst to me at the time) they were part of the reason I loved it. I may not have fully grasped the politics or known very much of the history of the Middle East and it's relationship with Europe and the Ottoman Empire in the 1910s but none of that mattered this was an adventure of epic proportions and I felt like I was right in the middle of it all.
I think that's what I miss most about childhood, how much easier it was to immerse myself into another world not just suspending my disbelief but really and truly feeling like I was there living it. This would happen to me countless times as a kid, whether I was watching "Ben-Hur", pretending I was the dying Messala, or reading "The Golden Goblet", flattening bread rolls with encyclopedias to make Egyptian flatbread. Those were definitely the days.
The only picture I could find of the rocking-horse
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