Someone was asked, “What is your most missed memory?” Their response was, “How could you miss a memory?”
I scoffed and thought to myself, “easily.”
I miss standing in my grandmother’s backyard listening to cars drive down the interstate (which is the most relaxing sound ever, by the way), making up stories about the drivers, like where they were going, how their day was, who they were going home to.
I miss being 17.
I miss my dad.
I miss watching him grill.
I miss him setting me on his shoulders as a child as we walked through Walmart so I could stunt on the other kids.
I miss summers where I got to sleep until noon, then wake up and watch shows like Jerry Springer and Maury all day.
I miss playing in my other grandmother’s yard after church while her noisy neighbors across the street blasted 96.5 and would turn the music up upon my request when I heard a song that I liked come on. Curse the country station that bought them out.
I miss honeysuckle juice.
I miss shouting “7:57!” at my mom back when she still drove me to school, that being the absolute latest time we could leave the house in order to avoid me getting a tardy.
I miss Barbies.
I miss developing video game concepts with my cousin on the bus ride home after school. We could’ve been billionaires by now.
I miss music groups.
I miss music period.
I miss Happy Meals.
I miss Nicktoons.
I miss Disney Channel.
I miss swing sets.
I miss themed family movie nights. Yes, we were that family.
I miss the old BET.
I miss walking the dirt roads of Blackwell every summer.
I miss kickball tournaments.
I miss family vacations.
I miss the days of the summer when I first got my Jeep and my sunroof actually still worked and I rode around blasting Beyonce and Adele all day.
I miss not having responsibilities.
I miss second grade.
Turns out I miss everything that ended up making me what and who I am today.
Can you really miss a memory? I guess I’m not so sure anymore.
X’s and O’s,