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The perfect years
According to the Collins English Dictionary the word nostalgia is defined as an affectionate feeling for the past, especially for a particularly happy time. As a kid living in the suburbs of Toronto, Canada, I was indulging in happy times, not because life was perfect then, but because I saw it as perfect. It seems that at the tender age of ten, the smallest of life’s pleasures get you feeling euphoric and all you really need to keep you happy are your friends, your roller-blades and your packet of crisps.
There was nothing, no snacks, no games, no fun that my friends and I missed out on. During summers we would draw clumsy hopscotch diagrams and play until the chalk faded away on the concrete sidewalk. Three or four of us would haul out our bicycles and roller skates and go riding around the neighbourhood. We returned panting and flushed but soaked in sunshine and pure bliss. We would play tag and run frantically, crazed and driven. Nobody remembered to tie their laces which sometimes led to painful consequences but there was nothing a bandage couldn’t fix. Then when the heat got unbearable and our growling stomachs made running impossible, we would run inside only to return with tall glasses of soda and packets of potato chips, devouring them gleefully in the backyard.
We would lie on the lawn and gaze at the passing clouds, climb the trees, chew on a blade of grass. We got dirty from sitting on the dusty sidewalk and never cared that we soiled our clothes. During springtime, everyone rallied together to plant flowers all around the neat little townhouses and then sat languorously in the middle of all the colour and life.
Came November and the snowfall would start. The skies became a glowing orange during the night while soft sunlight filtered through the clouds during the day. We would slip on all our bulkiest jackets, boots and woollen mittens and get right down to the sacred winter rituals of snowball fights, snowman making and sleighing down steep snow laden hills. The cold air would jet through our body as we whizzed down on our sleighs. It chilled us to the bone but at the same time replenished us in an unearthly way.
Every year during those biting Toronto winters we would attempt to build the largest snowman ever recorded in history. We never managed to get it higher than the top of the slide, but once again, we didn’t care. It was always equally pleasurable to knock it down or leave it unprotected so that it soon melted into a forgotten puddle under the sun. We missed him terribly but there was always hope that he’d return next year.
No winter was complete without a snowball fight, the most vicious kind. Two teams would battle for glory and to remain standing despite all the blows you received was a matter of dignity and honour. It was not about who won. It was about who had the most courage, sportsmanship and ability to shape a piece of snow into a perfectly rounded sphere.
These were the unwritten laws of the playground and we were keen to abide by them. Then to make it perfect, we would end the day with a steaming cup of hot cocoa, place it between our palms and let the warmth seep through our body. We were content. Yes, there were losses, sad times, and tearful goodbyes but then there were the barbeques, picnics, garage sales, car washes and summer holidays. Yet most of all there was a vibrant energy and a natural tendency to be careless and innocent. We were fuelled by laughter and sugar. We loved animals. We appreciated a good joke, or even a bad one. We were ignorant of anything that should upset us or create barriers between us and that was the key to our happiness. We were close to nature but that soon deteriorated with time. We soon outgrew our rollerblades and bikes, we soon forgot how to play Kings or Crazy Eights. No one bothered to draw back the faded hopscotch and everyone went their separate ways. Somewhere along the line, the playful spirit died away and even all the snow in the world couldn’t bring it back. The change caught me unaware, like a forgotten birthday.
I know I won’t make the same mistake again. I’ll stop and smell the roses. I’ll smile more often and give more hugs than necessary. I’ll relish small pleasures like a rainy day, a funny commercial, a friendly stranger and a cup of hot cocoa, for those are the only elements that can keep my nostalgic memories alive.
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