When I was a child, there weren’t entire television channels devoted to my demographic.
Or if there were, I knew nothing about them. We didn’t have cable.
And neither did my Granny.
When my Mama went back to college when I was 4 years old, I would go to my Granny’s to spend the day, and my memories of her house are so simple. Her toy collection included one or two big bouncy balls and a couple of children’s books.
But it’s so funny. I didn’t even notice the lack of toys or childish entertainment available to me. I would play with her costume jewelry. I’d braid the strands of yarn hanging off of her potted plants. I’d walk laps through their circular house with my Papa (who had emphysema and was on a strict, albeit slow, walking regiment).
But what I remember most is sitting with Granny on her road-facing porch watching the cars drive by, talking, and singing. She’d sing “Old McDonald” with me over and over again, and I never grew tired or bored in our spot on that mint-green glider.
Granny is no longer with us in this world, and her house was sold long ago, but I carry her simplicity in my heart, and it dictates much of what I long for for my own children.
Thus, I couldn’t help but think of her this morning as I sat with my 3 children on our own front porch, watching the trash truck make its rounds, talking about our week and singing songs about God.
On days like this unseasonably cool and rainy July morning, we don’t really need that bucket of toys on the side of the porch. We don’t need Nick Jr. or Disney Jr. or Amazon Prime. We don’t need much of anything, really, but the chairs beneath our bottoms, a few songs in our hearts, and yes, the cup of coffee to my left.
Toys and TV will mean less and less to my children as they grow in wisdom and truth, and though our scene is much (MUCH) more chaotic than the one I enjoyed with my Granny, I pray that my kids will remember these simple and repetitive days with the same fondness and appreciation that I have for my own memories…
Something tells me they will.