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Lisa's |
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Remember the way you felt as a kid upon
wearing a new pair of sneakers, or blue jeans, or ice skates? I do. Except for
the ice skates. I was told I’d have to wait till my feet stopped
growing first; by the time they did, I lost interest.
But the point I’m making is that these basic purchases were
very special and eagerly awaited. They
were hoped for and valued. The
word “appreciated” instantly comes to mind.
Yes, I was certainly grateful.
The once in a while occasions I’m referring to were always
preplanned and remarkably as thrilling to me as a day at the nearest
amusement park or afternoon spent at a movie theatre.
Infrequency was the main ingredient defining and preserving those
special treats. When I was twelve years old, my parents bought
me a cassette recorder. It
was such a big deal in my eyes that I still remember choosing one. That inexpensive, simple gift became my shadow.
We were inseparable after school, weekends, and holidays.
For a number of years, my favorite band had a weekly television
show that I faithfully watched. My
new little device allowed songs performed on the program to be captured
on tape and carried all over the house, backyard, and also in my
parents’ car. I even
brought that gadget into a Red Lobster restaurant with an audiocassette
or two in my jacket pocket. I
was allowed to press “play” with the agreement I’d keep the volume
down to a barely audible level. And
for quite some time, I continued to do so in similar situations.
My first brand-new ten-speed bicycle was adored
immensely also. After a
string of secondhand ones, being the original owner was quite a
tremendous privilege. We
shared many years, adventures, and joyous memories together. Probably
more than can honestly be said for many marriages of the past, present,
and future. Unfortunately. The item I most distinctly desired as a kid was
a see-through “bubble” umbrella, as it was called back then.
We had been hit with a snowstorm and I had to wait for the roads
to be cleared before my mother would go shopping for one.
Each morning, I looked out the living room window to see if our
side street was visible from beneath the fallen snow.
When it finally was, we drove to several stores, but they were
all sold-out. I was severely disappointed, especially since I never did
obtain the prized umbrella. As adults, how often do we enjoy the pleasures
of receiving genuine treats? Minus
the artificial ones, such as ice cream sundaes and glazed doughnuts,
what’s the actual count? Delayed
rewards are things of the past; instant gratification is the norm,
although it only offers temporary satisfaction.
How many times do you see adults skipping out of stores, smiling,
while clenching their purchases? We want, so we buy.
And many of us proceed without caution.
Acquiring possessions becomes commonly routine; the wonderment of
grasping a much-desired belonging loses its pizzazz, its kick.
Whenever I purchase something for myself, no
matter how attractive I assess it to be, it just does not have that
exciting spark it would have had during my younger years.
When I had to wish. When
I had to wait. And when it
was once in a blue moon. Yes,
when it was an absolute treat. Having the ability to obtain material goods at
will does make us jaded. Easily
gaining too much of anything causes us to miss out on something: When we no longer have to hope, dreams lose their purposes.
We don’t need to wish upon stars for the little things that
meant everything way back when. And I find that reality truly sad. It is something to think about now and then, perhaps
provoking a slight nostalgia. Through fervently longing for our hearts’
desires, we sustain endless youth.
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