Nostalgic Echoes
“I wish I could grow up faster and live on my own,” I tell my mom as she tucks me into
my Tinker Bell bed. As the warm summer days of running around barefoot in the freshly cut
grass and swinging high on the tire swing came to an end, the dull winters of adulthood started to
settle in. There was a sense of youth and innocence in the air at the time, one of which I didn’t
realize I would greatly miss.
This life was magical and simple. Time and time again for years my sister and I ran to our
playroom and fought over what game we would play next. We countlessly got warped into a
world of Mario on our Wii. I was once again stuck in a bubble, as my sister carried us to the
flagpole. A long blue elephant’s trunk reached to the sky, as a kaleidoscope of butterflies
gracefully flew into our nets. “How about a fort with couch cushions?!” I excitedly asked my
sister. The cushions seemed huge at the time. Our imaginations took us on remarkable rides,
from being on a pirate ship and lost at sea, to on a roller coaster at a theme park. The fort we
decorated and put much thought into, with blankets draped over the top, was soon destroyed as
dinner was finally ready.
My colorful childhood was spent in the south where the sweet fragrance of peaches and
pecans grew. Running up and down the cotton field to reach the old shed, where the Pickin’ Party
was held every spring still plagues my memory. Campers lined in the grass, as everyone greeted
each other for another year of fun. The endless smell of southern food attracted people to gather
into a line. I can still hear the beautiful echoes of bluegrass ringing through the perfectly green
trees. The blissful laughter and music seemed to last all night. My mom’s voice is forever
embedded into my young mind, as she tells me to “not talk to strangers”, but these southern
strangers who ate pecan pie and played banjos were the most welcoming and sweetest people.
My sister and I would go from camper-to-camper listening to their crazy stories and tales they
told us. As the campers pulled away one last time, and the smell of food disappeared into the
night, so did a part of my childhood.
Our secluded one-story house down in Georgia was filled with memories, some of which
I no longer remember. Family game nights, Christmas mornings, playing outside on our slip and
slide, and painting our nails filled our youthful hearts. Games nights were a regular thing in our
home, it varied from playing mom’s Nintendo to Monopoly. As my mom was rolling doubles
countless times, I was busy buying Park Avenue, while my sister went bankrupt, she scurried to
find more money. We got lost in this world of fun, that’s now so far away.
The Mcdonald’s play place was a magical place for my sister and I. The chicken nuggets
we “only came to Mcdonalds for” were soon forgotten as we reached the huge maze of spiral
tunnels. Pretending to be stuck in the colorful tubes so we could play longer was our specialty.
Although my mom wasn’t too pleased to be at the play place with a bunch of screaming kids, she
knew we wouldn’t be kids forever.
“Mom, I don’t want to go to bed now! Five more minutes?” I vividly hear myself ask my
mom. I miss having a bedtime.
“I found a penny on the floor!” I told my sister as we walked together off the school bus.
I miss the excitement of finding pennies on the ground and telling everyone you care about.
“I don’t want to watch Max and Ruby.” I miss watching Max and Ruby while sitting at
my princess table eating fruity pebbles.
“Go outside and be a kid.” I constantly heard grownups saying. I miss going outside and
“Being a kid”
“I wish I could go back.” I type out on my computer, as I sit in my dull college
classroom.