When you forget to remember your childhood every now and then, you forget how to grow.
You forget the endless summer days out in the sunshine, where the sky was robin's egg blue and you stomped your worries into the sea of blades below. Your dad signed you up for Little League, thus beginning the Softball Era in your life. Everyone you knew played, and the sport was loads of fun. And you were practically Babe Ruth. With every crack of the bat, a place like Fenway Park didn't seem so far away.
Yet, softball fell behind, leaving you with saudade: a faint taste of sunflower seeds, rust hued dust, and sadness.
When you forget to remember your childhood, you ignore the foundation of your being.
You forget the childhood memories you shared with your brothers and sisters, some of those memories you know you won't live again.You forget watching your two older brothers kick butt at every single video game on the Nintendo 64.
Super Smash Bros.? Master Hand couldn't even squash Mario if he tried. The plumber's blue jean overalls always seemed to narrowly avoid the boss's war zone. There was something so satisfying about seeing your oldest brother rot the enemy from a solid white glove into what looked like burnt toast. You tirelessly sought to beat him yourself, but could never seem to destroy him quite like your sibling could.
The Legend of Zelda was no match for your second oldest bro. How he could puzzle piece himself through Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask without any help, which blew your mind. He slashed through weeds, unlocked master treasure chests, and whistled memorized melodies (the Song of Storms being your favorite, of course), all with a snap of his fingers. It was loads of fun to watch him play, but you looked away the second he'd enter the Happy Mask Shop, for the Happy Mask Salesman made a scary face when he was angry at Link, and that gave you nightmares (same goes for the mummified father in Ikana Canyon).
But you remember that you'll never get to watch them play again, and you'd give anything to see them do so once more. Those days are long gone. One brother now has a child and his own life to live, and the other brother kidnapped your Nintendo 64 and settled in Alaska (not even kidding).
When you forget to remember your childhood, you forget the routines that meant so much to you.
The routines where you picked out a single VHS tape from your millions, which was always the same movie every night. Disney, of course. You grew giddy with the anticipation of the newly titled status: Night Owl. Bedtime was set for eight, but you were soon graced with an hour extension, and thus returned to the pink room you shared with your little sister (only by a year!). This proceeded into an argument about who had to rewind the tape since someone forgot to last time. But you'd usually cave since you were taller and the TV sat sky-high on a dresser. Lion King II flashed across the screen, signifying the perfect end to another day full of Bratz, Barbies, and Littlest Pet Shop.
But you remember that your sister is much older now, and her life in Arizona is right around the corner. She'll be in college soon, and you are left to wonder why the old days had to stay behind.
When you forget to remember your childhood, you forget about your elementary school and friends. How you and your best friend spent countless hours playing with your Nintendo DS Lites, flipping between Super Mario Bros. and Animal Crossing: Wild World. Usually you picked SMB because one of you forgot to save and couldn't get past the Wrath of Resetti in ACWW. You were both gamers, and thankfully you both still are.
But you remember that your friend now lives in another city, attending a different college. And you remember that five miles to her house turned into 120 miles.
When you forget to remember your childhood, you forget what true happiness really is. Where you didn't grow to impress people and fit in, but grew for one sole purpose: to have as much fun as humanely possible.
You forget that people weren't really that bad, and everything wasn't difficult. You forget to think about your first dog and how she was such a blessing to have loved, or that you were planning on becoming the next Bob Ross with your love of art. You ignore how your stuffed animals had life, and that choosing Scruffy the Dog over Trotter the Beanie Baby Stallion would make for one jealous horse. You overlook how beautiful adolescence is.
Because you forgot to remember the glory of childhood, you now attempt to forget the vagueness of adulthood.
So please, every now and then,