I'm sure you all know growing up sucks, so that's not what this post is about. This week marks the third week I have been home from college for the summer. These past three weeks have mainly consisted of crying, longing for the days I was back at school, and wishing August would come sooner. My parents have considered therapy to help them deal with those feelings.
I have been reminiscing on my younger days since I've been home and I realized that after Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, I probably had the third best childhood in America. I could shorten today's post to two words if I had to: hit clips. But I will go into further detail about all of the things that made my nineties childhood (and probably yours) awesome.
I think one of the first concepts I learned as a child was the drastic difference between "home" and "Grandma's house." At home, I was Cinderella. Between washing the dishes once a week and being asked to do countless chores ("move your feet so I can vacuum" and "come let me cut your hair") I felt like my parents only wanted a child so they would have a servant. But when I went to my grandparents' house...it was a whole different world. I was finally being treated like the princess I always knew I was.
At home, if I were to spill a drop of water my parents would freak out and continue to bring up the incident frequently over the next twenty years.
Examples:
"Wow, I almost just spilled my glass of water! But that's your job, isn't it?"
"Looks like rain tomorrow. Remember when you spilled water all over the new carpet?"
"Goodnight. Don't spill any water in your sleep!"
But at my grandparents' house, I could spill a can of red paint all over the walls and carpet and my sweet grandma would probably say "That's okay sweetie, I know it was an accident, we can repaint the house it's no problem." They would probably then feel bad that I felt bad and bake me cookies or buy me something.
Needless to say I spent as much time as possible at my grandparents' house growing up. I was their first grandchild, which probably explains why they never told me "no" or "I don't want to watch The Little Mermaid again" or "you don't need a fifth ice cream cone."
Hit clips cannot be overlooked in discussing why my childhood was awesome. Hit clips were to my preteen years what insulin is to a diabetic. When I walked into a store listening to 90 seconds of my favorite songs, I felt like the height of sophistication. With my hit clip player clipped onto a belt loop, I thought I could easily pass for eleven. I still have my hit clips in my bedroom, the best of NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, and Aaron Carter just waiting for my little cousins (non-nineties kids) to appreciate them.
As every true nineties kid knows, all of my best movies are on VHS. But of course my parents didn't buy me the Disney princess movies or other twentieth century classics like The Fox and the Hound, Lion King, and Robin Hood. Luckily, my aunt had all the right movies. My summers were spent watching the Aristocats, Pocahontas, The Rescuers, and the Land Before Time to name a few. You just don't know pure joy until you've seen Fern Gully. Am I right? To this day, my VCR is my most-prized possession, like my own private time machine that takes me back to the days of Toy Story and Thumbelina. Now if only I could locate my View-Master.
A few days ago I decided to jump on my old trampoline. Like most all-American playthings it was likely made in China, but I gambled and hoped it was, in the words of Destiny's Child, "ready for this jelly." And although there were several near death experiences during which my life bounced before my eyes, it was. Just like a decade ago, I do some of my best thinking on the trampoline. While I was jumping I realized that this is the third trampoline we've had. Apparently, while my parents didn't feel the need to buy me Disney movies, every time a trampoline broke they got me a new one. And I think that makes them pretty awesome.
P.S.-There was one part of my childhood that has no silver lining. My mother gave away my Easy Bake Oven. Just gave it away. Disgusting.
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