Happy Birthday, Some Kind of Nostalgia! One year ago today, this blog was born. (The first article was about the former Nickelodeon Studios.) In honor of this day, I’ve decided to include an excerpt from a short story I wrote a few years ago. The idea centers around the memory of childhood, and you should expect nothing less from me. I rarely share my personal writing, so enjoy.
(And yes, I made this candle. Thanks, Paintbrush!)
“ We can’t help but look up, our eyes stretching as far as they can to stare into the sun, not because we need to understand what we see, but just because we have to feel it, and know that we like to be hot, or we don’t mind being cold.
I was born in the springtime, a season I can feel in my fingertips as it emerges – and I suddenly envision a bright blue sky, the glittery wrapping paper around a boxed present, paper plates and pizza, frilly party dresses with stockings and red patent leather shoes, the smell of smoke clouding your nostrils after you blow out the candles on a cake toppling over in frosting, pulling blades of grass across the palms of your hand, pigs in a blanket, and the sweet taste of ketchup. I can picture Mom with frosted blonde hair in loose curls, a dress the color of shades that remind you of ice cream, the beaming smile on my brothers and sister, and Dad waving through a large video camera, dark brown hair, and lightly tanned skin illuminated by the afternoon glow of a backyard celebration.
Every parent forced their children to go to summer day camps. I never wanted to go. The yellow t-shirt with the cheery rainbow across the front was horrifying to me and the counselors were crude teenage girls who smelled like Aquanet. Mom would make me coat myself in sunscreen lotion early in the morning. That scent put knots in my stomach as the station wagon neared the building, and all I wanted was to digest the last hour of the afternoon. I favored the late summer . I’d sit up on the swing set sheltered by a bright yellow roof and a slide to let me escape honeybees and dragonflies. As I hummed along to melodies lost in my daydreams, the willow trees swayed with me, the light motion of their branches grazing my senses.
Summer offered tranquility on overly long, hot days that grip you with the scent of fresh cut grass and the sound of bicycle bells. On those days, you could tumble down hills to find sympathy in the ground and honesty in the clouds. When the heat began to recede, and the sun hid behind the tall chimneys, the light faded with the day. At dusk, the distinct smell of charcoal and fire hung in the air and the damp but refreshing feeling of the day stuck to the surface of your skin. Outside, the mosquito trapper rumbled and buzzed from across the street at the Shoomer’s house. We all hated that sound, but it had meaning to the summer. “
Tags: childhood, commemorative, summer
