From Tom Sawyer to Leo Sayer: A Journey Through Memory, Family, and Identity

I was about 8 or 9 when I first read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

It was an English copy, and though I was just a child in a small Dutch village called Voorthuizen—nicknamed the “Hill of the Bible” for its staunch Protestant culture—the book transported me to the wild Mississippi River.

Little did I know that this tale of boyhood adventure would one day resurface in my mind, tied to a song by Leo Sayer nearly 45 years later. But memory is a fascinating thing—it doesn’t just take you back; it weaves together threads you didn’t even know were connected. This realization made me reflect on the intricate web of memories that shape our understanding of the world.

At the time, I was wearing my Aunt Maud’s tight-fitting jeans, much to my mother’s dismay.

My aunt—redheaded, statuesque, and married to an Egyptian millionaire named Maged—was everything my mother was not.

Poeke (as we called her) had a flair for the dramatic: she flew in her husband’s private plane to take belly dancing classes.

My mother, born in Indonesia and ever the epitome of Chanel elegance, found this utterly scandalous.

For her, gloves and head coverings weren’t just fashion statements; they were shields against the sun and any hint of skin darkening—a colonial-era remnant where fair skin equalled class and privilege.

Imagine her horror at her sister marrying a dark-skinned Egyptian man! His wealth didn’t matter; his complexion did.

My mother’s life in Voorthuizen was a world apart from Maud’s flamboyance.

The village sat firmly in the Dutch Bible Belt, where Protestant values shaped every aspect of life.

Yet my mother was anything but Protestant.

She carried with her the echoes of colonial Indonesia—a world of rigid class hierarchies and European aspirations—even as she navigated life in this profoundly traditional Dutch community.

Chanel for formal occasions, Max Mara for “easier wear,” and always an air of refinement that set her apart.

And then there was me: a child caught between these worlds. Reading Tom Sawyer in English felt like stepping into another dimension where adventure trumped propriety and freedom, which meant painting fences or floating down rivers.

In those moments, I wasn’t just a kid in tight jeans; I was Tom or Huck, escaping into a world far removed from the tensions of family dynamics or societal expectations. Literature, in its unique way, provided me with a safe haven where adventure trumped propriety and freedom was about painting fences or floating down rivers.

Fast forward decades later, and there I was again—this time not with Twain’s words but with Leo Sayer’s song playing in the background. Suddenly, it hit me: Tom Sawyer and Leo Sayer.

Two names floating around my subconscious all these years were now linked in a way I couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t just about phonetics but about what they represented—adventure, rebellion, and the passage of time.

Looking back now, I see how these layers of memory intertwine: my mother’s colonial elegance clashing with her sister’s audacious independence; my own childhood rebellion symbolized by those borrowed jeans; and the timeless pull of stories like Tom Sawyer, which reminds us that adventure is as much about escaping as it is about discovering who we are.

May harmony find you

Irena Phaedra