Recently, I had a conversation with my friend Andrew about how great our childhoods were–full of simplicity, fun, and most importantly, wild imaginations.
I remember playing games with my little sister that, in retrospect, made absolutely no sense at all, like a game we called Lion and Tiger, which basically consisted of us growling at one another on the back of our old blue-striped sofa. I remember us playing together for hours with nothing to entertain us but ourselves, laughing and shrieking with excitement the whole day.
We don’t do this anymore, though. Now we are entertained by screens flashing in our faces, by simulated realities. Since our conversation, I’ve longed for the old days.
A memorable joy from my childhood came from the children’s books that I read. To this day, my family has a huge collection of them in our upstairs hallway — mostly, we can’t bear to give them away. The shelves line the walls, almost reaching the ceiling. Even today, I flip through them every so often and can still appreciate how beautiful they are and what a role they played in shaping me through their fantastical stories and beautiful drawings. I actually do this fairly often.
I think in the last couple of years, I’ve gotten a few children’s books as gifts. My friends know how much I enjoy them.
So, lately, I’ve been thinking back to some of my favorites and Googling some of the images to remind me of what they looked like.
Does any one else remember these? Am I forgetting any good ones?
Oh, and there were some great movies as well…