My mom has been cataloging all of the family photos recently. I looked through the photos that she had piled into white plastic boxes. I came to the pile of photos in the box marked “Jeremy.” Flipping through each one- none of them were the same size. A school photo here, a Polaroid of a Superman cake there. I dismissed the rest of my family’s memories to reflect on mine. My brain is such an odd duck. It remembers such random things… I didn’t remember what I did a week ago, but I remembered my first “Fisher Price Magic Show.”
I was so young once… unsure and naive. Birthdays, baby pictures of me posing in a diaper… me dressed in the most ridiculous clothes. I saw my mom when I was nothing but a drooling infant. Young and unsure. Being in charge of another human life. Having the best of hopes for her son. That she’d raise him right. That he’d be an upright citizen. All sorts of hope in her eyes. We were all young once.
I look at myself now, and I wonder what happened to me. The youth is fading out of my eyes. My hair is starting to gray. I don’t get up at 7 on Saturday morning to watch cartoons. Candy doesn’t taste like it once did. I find myself complaining about the youth of today, and how things were “better when I was a kid.” I AM becoming that thing that we all said we wouldn’t become: old.
But every so often, I walk down the toy aisle. I buy candy. I watch cartoons on Saturday morning. I search for those things that made me a kid. I seek out that inner bliss of uncertainty and naivety. Age is creeping up on all of us. I’d like to remember the days behind me as I trudge forward to meet the days ahead.