Tag: childhood

Memories snob


Ava making snow angels, and memories

We had a decent snow a few weeks ago. The kind where you can actually bring out the sleds. It was a magical time for the kids.

It brought out a lot of comments on Facebook about “when I was a kid, we used to…fill in the blank.” Was the snow better back then or what?

I’m finding that as I (clears throat) get a little older, my friends around the same age and I talk about our childhoods a lot. We did have great childhoods. We grew up in the 60s and 70s with 3 channels on black and white tvs, vinyl records played on something called a record player, and the ice cream man wasn’t on a national registry.


The Willis kids’ snowman

I must confess it irritates me a little when I hear people my own age compare the magic of our childhoods to the childhoods’ of  kids these days. Who died and made us the ‘my childhood was better’ gods?

My grandkids play Minecraft. A lot. They play on ipads, Kindles, and the Playstation. I don’t even pretend to understand the game. But it’s okay—it’s their memories. We played Life, and Clue, and Masterpiece. Our games weren’t better. They were different.

We danced and acted silly and made up dance routines to the music of The Beatles and The Monkees. My grandkids do the same to the music of someone named Lorde and a group named One Republic. Thirty years from now their kids will be doing the same thing to music of an artist not even born yet. And it’s not wrong. It will be their childhood memories. Not wrong. Just different than mine and yours.


Aiden and Jeana’s pup, Wrigsley

They have Nickelodeon on demand. We had Bonanza on Sunday nights. Technology doesn’t make their childhood any less significant or wondrous. It just makes it different.

When I was a kid, my favorite meal was broiled hamburger patties, fat steak fries, and field peas. I still fix it sometimes and think of my mother fondly every time I do. Ava’s favorite meal is kielbasa, dirty rice, and green beans. One day she’ll fix it for her own kids and think of Nina when she does. Her childhood memory of her favorite meal will be just as sweet as mine, though it’s two different meals separated by several generations.


Emma making her own snow angel

Looking at the pictures of the grands playing in the snow made me laugh. I couldn’t help but to think of comments from my age group about the depth of snow when we were kids. “When we were kids, it snowed up to our knees!” Well, yeah…the knee-to-ground ratio of a six year-old probably hasn’t changed much over the years so don’t slight the grandkids’ snow memories because you think your snow was deeper.


Paisley. Making memories.

It’s their childhood. It will be their memories. And they will be just as wondrous and magical as ours.

The Wonder Years

I’m a child of the 60’s and 70’s. I grew up in a neighborhood called Shannon Hills. The neighborhood was a newly developed plat of land that became home to many young families escaping the “city” and settling into suburbia.  Along with these young families came kids. Many kids.

The kids formed life-time friendships with the kids next door or across the street, or around the corner. I know I did. Our parents played Rummy together on Saturday nights while we kids chased lightning bugs and told ghost stories.

We had imaginations and were never afraid to use them. The slick, plastic mat of a Twister game became the backdrop of our pretend rock band’s concert. We were The Beatles. The Monkees. The Jackson 5.

Outside, we were  Hoss and Little Joe. Alias Smith and Jones, Lancer, and the guys from Laredo. And of course Buck, and Blue Boy, and Manolito.

We held seances and ran screaming out of the house when sirens wailed in the background. We practiced acrobatic routines in our backyards when we were all going to run away and join the circus – and one of us did.

We were board game experts. Masterpiece, Life, Clue…our parents should have bought stock in Milton Bradley.

We didn’t understand the significance of President Nixon’s resignation. Or the complexity of a war being fought in a jungle in a country far, far away. We were kids. We were going to live forever.

But we didn’t. Trish Godwin left us Saturday, June 8th. During the “wonder years” she was Patricia Morgan, oldest of the Morgan sisters – Susan, Germaine, and Linda.


Patricia “Trish” Morgan Godwin, middle row, far right. RIP, Trish. It was a heckuva ride.













The reality of her death is so overshadowed by the reality of her life. A life so full of wonder. A childhood that defines us to this day.

Please enjoy the video. We’re still trying to find our way back. pooh

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