For a long time, I’ve envied people to whom the wonder years are festive bowls of joy topped up with dollops of bittersweet longing. To me, joy has nothing to do with the wonder years, and I do not particularly long for revival of the first 20-odd years of my life.
That is not to say that my memories are “bad”. Good and bad are our own interpretation of reality, and any interpretation is up for debate (within margins of course – some things are so harrowing in nature, they can never be re-interpreted as fine and dandy, however much of a stoic you’ve become.)
Fast forward to the present day and the little Tops, who are living their childhood to the max, churning out memories as we speak. Will these be “good” memories? Or will their flashbacks turn sour on them? They do not have access to many extracurricular activities. It’s mostly just home, and school, and as many weekend outings with the Smurf Van as we can muster. No music lessons, no crafting classes, little to no sports. Even if we could afford all this on a regular basis, I doubt we would be the type of Mum and Dad willing to chauffeur all day long.
It’ll be interesting to see how they look back on all this when they are grown-ups.
The other day, we took them to a breeding ground for birds, for a walk with our bird-watcher friend, followed by some jeu de boule on the spot and a light supper at a restaurant later on. Will they remember what colour the toy bird accompanying us was? Will they remember the call of the bittern, the impromptu sheepdog training session we witnessed at the site, the fact that the day started out grey and damp and ended sunny? Will they remember that Top4 had one of her infamous breakdowns just minutes before we were scheduled to leave, or will the niceness of the afternoon surpass that and qualify the day fit to be stored under “good memories”?
I don’t even know whether this particular day will be saved to their database, or will be lost at sea. (We’ll have the picture, but what will it tell them?)
