Yesterdays tend to clog up our ‘sappy filters’ way more than tomorrows.
It makes sense, too.
We recall certain smells, certain Saturday morning cartoons and eating our Eggos on the carpet in front of the Grape Ape. If we close our eyes on certain winter nights we can still recall the ways the sinking summer sun reflected off the parked cars along the streets where we rode our bikes long ago; streets that were ours, at least until darkness came and a choir of mom voices collided with one another as they echoed our names out of swung screen doors.
The past holds us to it dearly because it know us better. We’re an old friend with no reservations about the future since nothing can take away what we have already known.
Still, sometimes I wonder. If I could change one thing about my youth and my younger man years, what would it be? Or would there be anything at all?
And the answer I come up with time and time again is this: I kind of wish there had been more documenting technology back then.
I mean, I’m a little torn, because the jury is still out on this latest generation, the first to grow up in a world where huge chunks of their lives will be recorded for posterity, or at least for their grand kids to enjoy. I’m not certain that a stack of hard-drives is anywhere near as romantic a keepsake as a tenderly aged scrapbook or anything, but there is absolutely no doubt at all that the amount of photos and videos of us that will be available to our children whenever they want to look back upon our lives will be epic.
As people alive in 2012, we have lived during one of the most incredible technological revolutions of all time. It has been fast and monumentally fabulous. But for a kid born in the early 1970’s, whose childhood years are documented by an extremely limited number of old Fayva shoe boxes full of pretty bad photography, it is sometimes a little bit of a downer for me to consider that my kids will have all of this access to so much of their lives recorded and captured with pretty great cameras and touched up or edited with top-notch home editing programs to share with their children…yet, I have nothing of the sort.
It’s a tough call I guess.
Part of me wants to believe that for my own two kids, just imagining the past and guessing what daddy’s voice sounded like when he was 10, or how mommy really moved when she was a little girl, will allow them that certain slant of romance and imagination that most history demands of us.
But then part of me wishes that I had something as super cool as this wintery video that my wife made of my daughter and me two years ago.