It’s a sure sign of aging! I never thought this day would come but here it is bolder than the fact a politician has no morals. I’m seeing the present and wanting for the past.
Saturday night I went to the mall. My wife and I took our granddaughter, all of ten years old, who had actually worked hard and earned $100. She wanted to spend it, or at least some of it, and so we trekked her off to the mall while mommy was out of town.
Once there we decided I would “follow” my granddaughter around and see to it that she not get into trouble. This meant I looked for a bench to sit on outside every teeny bopper store there.
As the evening progressed my mind became showered with memories of the past, from my own days of being 10 and how things were different and leaving me to exclaim within, “whatever happened to the ‘good ole days’?”
My granddaughter earned $100 dollars. When I was 10 my father didn’t earn $100 for a week’s worth of hard labor. If memory serves me, it was more like $40 a week. For a 10 year old there really were no means to earn $1.00 say nothing about $100. I do recall around the age of 11 or 12 being “allowed” to go into the field and pick potatoes in the hot sun or toss hay bales if you were strong enough. I could fill a peck bag for 10 cents and if I stuck to it all day, I could make $1.00 but I’d rather go catch a brook trout in the local stream.
While my granddaughter shopped the mall, my memory shopped Maggie Newton’s Store. I grew up in the country and by bicycle Maggie Newton’s Store was roughly 6 miles. The store was really an extension of the old woman’s house. Stuff was piled everywhere and many of us knew you took your chances buying something there not knowing how long merchandise had been around. We really had no other options than to go in the other direction into town.
On the rare occasions I got my hands on money – perhaps for a birthday treat I found a buck in a card – it became begging to my mother to let me, usually along with a brother or two (if I shared), bike to Maggie Newton’s for a shopping spree.
A shopping spree at Maggie’s meant stale candy (taffy, mint juleps, licorice, dots or a fireball) or perhaps a rare Topp’s baseball card and bubble gum – the gum being harder than a rock.
Back to earth I found myself in a bit of a fog as my granddaughter was asking me to hold her shopping bags. I did as she headed back to whatever it was she was looking at and so I took the opportunity to make sure I wasn’t going to get in trouble when I got home because I allowed her to buy something “inappropriate”.
Peeking into the bags I spotted makeup, sunglasses, a belt, sneakers with peace signs all over them (another flashback), neon glow green shoe laces – roughly $60.00 worth.
I turned to my left and spotted another “dad” sitting in the corner patiently waiting while his wife and daughter did much the same. Still not having left my world of the past, fighting reentry, I said, “Whatever happened to baseball cards and bubble gum?” We both chuckled.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiing, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing, riiiing, riiiiing! There on the wall, next to the front door and toward the corner of the living room, hung the old crank telephone. Someone was calling Geraldine I’m sure, as Geraldine was in on every telephone call there was on the “party” line, whether it was for her or not. It was one way to stay caught up on the local gossip.
Actually, the crank phone was about the only connection to the outside world. We didn’t have a television yet and even if we did, there was no tower to get a signal from.
Tugging on my arm, my granddaughter was insisting it was time to visit more stores, although she informed me she wasn’t spending any more money. She had to save some. “Good for her,” I thought but I wasn’t ready to leave my world.
Out the door we went heading in the general direction of our 8 o’clock rendezvous with Grammie! Sitting dead ahead was the mall ice skating rink. I wondered if anyone playing on the ice had ever had to shovel snow off a frozen pond or river in order to enjoy a frolic on the ice. It was a sure bet. I even imagined most didn’t know you could do that.
All around the ice rink people sat, alone or gathered in bunches. Cell phones protruding from nearly every ear, some laughing, some not, most yelling, me wishing they would stop. To my left a Starbucks Coffee shack with shoppers eager to spend $4, $5, or $6 for some variation of a coffee drink.
I heard a sharp laugh, followed by, “Oooooh, I see you! Hiiiii!” and I saw a woman, alone at a small table, laptop open and she was talking to her computer. Take me away. Where am I?
It became quite surreal. I wanted to run from it all. It was like a movie – a futuristic one. Almost horror.
Gradually we worked our way back up to the escalator and found Grammie. I was anxious to get in my car and go home. As we walked across the parking lot toward my van, I said to my granddaughter, “Honey! You did a good job tonight. You were thoughtful of what you bought and handled yourself as someone considerably older than 10. But I have one request. Please don’t grow up and take on that “gothic” look. I hate it! It’s so sad. Look! It’s one thing to buy a few clothes and dress the part. Clothes change as do fashions and fads. You could even paint your hair pink for all I care. It will grow back out. But promise me you will NOT drill holes in your head, punch ugly holes through your beautiful skin and cover it up with tattoos!”
I rushed home and scurried to my recliner. I reached for the remote control and glanced up at the high definition, LCD flat-screen television (Christmas present), then opted for my glasses and a book. Ahhhh, peace and quiet. Where can I go to now?
Tom Remington
