When "kickin it old school" remember:
The memories are always going to win out over trying to recreate the memories. The saying you can't go back, is really deeper than some Southern wit.
I had a PB&J this week. First time in awhile. This from a guy who will try PB on anything. Did it taste anything remotely like Gramma used to make when I threw her the "deuce" sign to answer what I wanted for lunch? Ahh, no. Same type of bread, same type of PB, jelly, the works. No dice. Maybe it was a magical, pre night-games at Wrigley period where things tasted better. (It was always two PB&J's, a run around outside, and back inside for a 1:20 first pitch. Marvelous.) But the generations previous have the same things, don't they? Some time, some place, something was better than they will ever experience it again. And I don't mean the cliched, "I walked uphill 5 miles both ways" stuff, I mean real memories. The things you can still feel, or touch or taste.
And I also mean that both ways. Good and bad. The bad memories are just as important, if not more so, than the good ones. Sure, we treasure the good ones, but the bad ones--if we're smart enough--we learn from, grow from. I honestly believe that this life would be boring if we only had highs. I mean, can you imagine a roller-coaster with just highs? Not so much a coaster as an airport moving walkway. I don't relish my bad memories, but I do hold them dear. I have to.
I could go on and on, I've had a million of these moments in the last 6+ years that Lace and I have been together. This one just stuck out. Maybe it was the time between "sammiches" or maybe it was looking forward to going home in a month, who knows? Anyhow, it cured what ailed me as far as writer's block...at least for the time being.
I guess as parents, the best we can hope for is to give our kids as many of the good, help ease the bad and teach them that they all need to move you forward. Or, to bring it full circle, hopefully, one day, Baylie's PB&J making skills won't compare to my skills.
