Sweet Sentiments-Returning to our Childhoods
Okay, I admit it: there’s one place in this city where I am instantly recognized the moment I step in the door. Yes, in a city with three million people and enough tourists to create our own Model U.N. Ahh, the candy store. And really, at first I wasn’t embarrassed, thinking that the staff must have fantastic customer service skills to be able to recognize their patrons (perhaps I shouldn’t give so much credit when I’m the only one tall enough to see over the counter). But as I kept returning, the staff began engaging me in conversation as if we were old friends, reminding me about details of our past discussions and even (gasp!) remembering my husband’s name! That’s when it got out of control.
In all fairness, I tried to stop going due to sheer embarrassment, but there’s something about those walls of sugary bliss that I just cannot, and will not, resist. So as I walked home last week, somewhere between noshing on chocolate raisins and sour gummy bears, I began to wonder why we all can’t seem to resist the lure of our favourite childhood desires. Are we drawn to the memories of childhood, or is childhood a universal place that we never really leave?
Our biggest mistake is to believe that we all stop being kids at some arbitrary point in time and then start being adults at another point. We all grow up assuming that one day we will reach that magical birthday when we shed our childish ways and suddenly feel like adults. But I haven’t met anyone, even amongst the over-the-hill crowd, who has admitted to reaching that point yet. Everyone keeps insisting that they still feel young and carefree, that they are still trying to figure out life. And you can see the proof just by watching The Real Housewives party until they can’t stand up anymore or by flipping on C-SPAN and watching grown men look flat-out b-o-r-e-d for three hours. There isn’t a pre-designed manual on how to act like an “adult”—we all just make some good guesses about life based on our reservoir of experiences and then live with the illusion that everyone else knows what the heck is going on (don’t worry if your reservoir seems to be in the middle of a drought…mine does too).
Only a couple of days ago I ran down the street in my neon-green, orange-laced Nike sneakers, and a five-year-old girl pointed at my feet and exclaimed: mommy, preeetty shoooes! I chuckled inside, not because of the memories of youthful jubilance, but because when I found those shoes at the store last summer, the voice inside my head sounded exactly like that little girls’. Ohhh, preeetty shoooes! Yes, I know I’m an adult by my age. I just don’t feel like one.
So the next time you order ice cream with extra sprinkles on top, dance to the Spice Girls in your bedroom, or nab that extra scoop of sour gummies, remind yourself that everyone else is permanently young and carefree, too. And nobody has quite figured out what it means to be a grown-up, whether they admit it or not.
Even the gents on C-SPAN have probably done a cannonball or two in their lifetimes.