Old School

My kids are fascinated by stories from our younger days. When Hillary was little, she would say, "Tell me a stowy about when you were a kid." (She sucked her thumb so she had a buck-tooth lisp!) I've always been hesitant...not wanting to put my kids through the dreaded "back when I was young.." stories that make most people roll their eyes and turn off their ears. But my husband LOVES talking about the past. Especially his athletic prowess. When the Time Train leaves for memory lane, he's the first one on it. I usually start singing "Glory Days" and leave the room, but the kids just eat it up. Parker has really gotten interested as he's come into adolescence. When he plays basketball, he wants to know if Dad played the same position...what his number was...if he did this drill or that drill in practice. And when he found Yancy's high school letterman jacket in the basement closet, he wore it to school every day. Even though it wasn't Parker's school colors and the sleeves hung down a little too far.

I've been promising Parker for a couple of weeks now that we would dig out the old yearbooks and he could look through them. So last night, my husband pulled out the storage tub in the back of the basement, under a whole stack of other things and the two of them pored over the year books. Yancy told stories about this boy and that girl, this teacher and that coach. Parker sat rapt with attention. They were in their own little world. After reliving 1989-91, I'd had enough. I went to bed. Leaving my boys to make their own memories by sharing memories.