Reminiscing or Can You Really Get Me A Time Machine Kip?

(An old photo (genuine tint, no Instagram needed!) of my sister and I perched on our grandparent's willlow tree-we used to climb into the middle of it where there was a special ledge, perfect for making mud pies and using our imaginations.  I remember that dress I had on-it was my favorite and I wore it every single day, along with those braids.)

Yesterday my brother wrote me a little note and told me how he was listening to some programs on the radio and how he loved doing this because it brought back the memory of him of being in the car running errands with mom or dad-that fuzzy radio sound in the background.

And I wrote back and told him of how I loved listening to the sound of baseball games on the radio.  Once last year I found one on an AM station-the station was kind of fuzzy-and one of the tortured kids in the back said, "WHY are we listening to this, MOOOMMMM?!  Please!!!!"  And I told them that I loved it and to shush.  Sometimes back long ago (30 years?  how can that be?) my best friend and I would ride with her Dad in the summer while he dropped off piles of newspaper for kids to deliver.  He was a teacher by trade but of course had jobs here and there to make ends meet and provide for his family.  We would help bag up the newspapers and then he'd throw them in the back of the pick up and we would ride with him on his rounds.  The baseball games were always on-it was soothing background noise.  Or maybe for me back then, I didn't even notice-but now every time I hear those announcer's voices it brings me right back to lovely hot summer nights.

I am a huge reminiscer.  I've said it before-go ahead and accuse me of glorifying the past because I have no qualms about doing just that.  I grew up in the time where moms were home caring for their babies and toddlers and had a snack waiting at the table when their older children came home sweaty and tired from a long school day, when dads took the role of provider for their family seriously and with pride, and when no play dates need be arranged-the outdoors beckoned and friends were right around the corner.  I remember annual trips to the shoe store where my mom bought us Hush Puppies once a year before school started.  I remember the smell of the hardware store on a Saturday morning errand with my Dad.  I remember simple, VERY simple, holiday traditions.  Coloring eggs was...well, just coloring eggs, before Martha...well, ruined just coloring eggs.  Simple-back when simple was enough.

I remember the "go outside and play" times.  I remember spending 10 hours a day outside on weekends and summer vacation.  Sure I was bored at times, but no one seemed to really care how bored I was, and certainly didn't feel sorry for my boredom-it was up to me to solve that issue myself.  I remember the bi-weekly trips to the grocery store-all piling in the station wagon or Suburban, helping my mom push two carts filled with well-planned and budgeted-for meals. When I was really young we went to the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.  OK, maybe not the last one, but I do remember the black and white shortbread cookies at the butchers, and the penny gumball machine if we were well-behaved.

There was no Target!  Thank God there was no Target.  What kid wants to be dragged through Target?  Or any of those other endless, too bright, horridly mind-numbing stores?  It's all junk anyways, I always say.  My friend Kitty and I joke that you could put back 99% of what's in your cart at Target before you get to the register and never remember what you missed not bringing home.  I just read this lovely article that made me tear up.  Don't you love that they kept the BB permission notes?  Don't you love that kids were playing with BB guns?  And that their moms trusted them enough to walk down to the hardware store alone?  (Or maybe because there were no video games or 100 channels on the TV, their moms just wanted them out of the house, doing something...anything!)

I joked to my brother that maybe if he looks on-line he could find a time machine for us like Kip did in Napoleon Dynamite-but one that really works, not just zaps your private parts. I wish somehow I could create the same environment for my children that I had growing up. I'm doing my best but I've failed miserably.  We have too much stuff-a box of new crayons I'm afraid doesn't hold the same thrill to my children as it did to me once long ago, too much technology has infiltrated my life, and the streets sometimes seem empty of children so my kids aren't pulled outside all day like I was.  I don't have one rotary phone hooked to my wall where I can hear everything my teens are saying, and I usually end up shopping at one of those endless, big box, too bright grocery stores.

I wish, I wish, I wish, I could go back in time just for a day.  If anything good comes out of this reminiscing time that usually hits me a few times a year, it is a recommitment to myself and my family to not forget those values of long ago-to remember what really counts, and push back hard on this crazy competitive, fast-paced, anti-child-friendly world we live in now.  In fact, I think I might frame that photo above, and a few other captured childhood memories, and place them right front and center above my kitchen sink.  A reminder of the past, but a motivational speech without words for the present and the future.