Here’s To You, Kid

Photo credit: Probably a classic yellow and red Kodak FunSaver disposable camera

I know, I know – we all find ourselves daydreaming about kicking it old school.

Back to the days of:

… butterfly hair clips,

… ruffled dresses with neon headbands,

… gel pens,

… Bath & Body Works glitter lotion,

… mix tapes in boomboxes,

… Friday night mall meetups,

… and Saturday Blockbuster runs.

Who could blame us? Things were simpler then.

But we’ve certainly made some upgrades:

… Trading in butterfly hair clips for salon highlights,

… ruffled dresses and neon headbands for ponte pants with sensible shoes,

… gel pens for iPads,

… glitter lotion for SPF and antioxidant creams,

… mix tapes played on boomboxes for Spotify playlists blaring through AirPods,

… mall meetups for online Amazon sprees,

… and Blockbuster runs for weekend Netflix binges.

I will say there’s something to be said about holding onto the past, though – at least to some things:

… Like a playful spirit and the various dreams of our youth – always holding close to our hearts those childhood memories.

And what better way to pull up those old memories than digging through old photos, thinking of the kiddo smiling back at you and how she continues to teach you lessons even today.

… Like how 7-year-old me had a love of Winnie the Pooh that was apparently quite obvious based on my teacher’s remarks on how it was pretty impressive how I could find a way to circle back to the Hundred Acre Woods in conversation or weave Pooh and friends into nearly any writing assignment. I mean, why wouldn’t the history of Tigger and Winnie’s friendship be an ideal topic for the weekly writing assignment? – Nice to meet you, creativity!

… Like how 8-year-old me handed my parents a Christmas wish list that consisted of all the cassettes Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, and Boyz II Men had ever made so I could sing along using my karaoke machine (apologies for anyone within earshot…). In case you’re wondering if my crooning was any good, let me assure you it was most definitely not. I know this because the machine literally exploded, smoking everywhere, just from me “singing.” So, naturally, I asked for another one… – Hello, persistence.

… Like how 9-year-old me proceeded to form a girl band (clearly undeterred by the exploding karaoke machine), which actually never sang a single song, unless you count lip-syncing while dancing to Spice Girls – You dream big, girl!

… Like how 10-year-old me had a comically brief youth soccer career – thanks in large part to my love of snacks, but also to pint-size me’s dogged determination to speak my mind (yes, about the snacks – of course). Let’s just say, when the coach asked, “Who is here for the snacks?!,” – 3 times in a row, growing angrier and louder each time, after a disappointing game (to which I surely contributed) – I raised my hand enthusiastically. Every. Single. Time. And by enthusiastically, I mean ponytail waving, right hand clutching a Twinkie, and left hand bolting in the air waving dramatically side to side (because maybe he asked over and over because he just didn’t see my hand waving, though it was the only one up…). Let’s just say he was not enthused, and he did not seem very cheerful in that moment. Clearly, the correct answer to his question (which, in hindsight, I realize was rhetorical – but 10-year-olds don’t know that… or at least tired, hangry ones don’t) would have been, “Not me!.” That would have likely gone over much better than my raising my hand repeatedly to confirm his suspicions that I, indeed, was just a little kid with a sweet tooth who was just phoning it in until I was discovered by the World Cup team and led them to victory. For what it’s worth, we may or may not have lost snack privileges thanks to my wrong reading of the situation, and I saw very little playing time, which fortunately for me meant I could spend my time where my skills were strongest – cheering for my teammates and getting to the bottom of the snack situation. You know, asking the important questions, like who would bring the snacks to each game and, once forbidden, inquiring what the penalty would be if one was found to be in possession of a post-game Capris Sun and a Ho Ho. – Can you say way to doggedly stick up for your priorities?!

So, although I may no longer spend my days writing Winnie the Pooh poetry (though apparently still weaving a reference or two into my writing in some way or another… ), “singing” with enough force to make karaoke machines explode, hopping around to 90s music (well, I guess this sometimes still happens… but only like once a week…), or coordinating snack schedules for my snack club soccer team, there’s a lot that hasn’t changed.

And, when I’m trying to be creative, or brave, or speak my mind, I like to think back on that goofy little girl with the ruffled dress and neon headband, who was busy contemplating the happenings of the Hundred Acre Woods, belting out Celine Dion, and dancing up a storm, usually always with a snack in hand.

So, here’s to you, kid – you creative, doggedly persistent, snack-loving dreamer.