“Saturday Mornings are still made of cereal and cartoons.” Read the caption attached to the sweet shot below that Hannah Henderson’s posted on Instagram last week, reminding me of the long lost childhood ritual of Saturday morning cartoon vege fests. Memories of my sister and me sitting on the floor bright and early at the start of each new weekend, clad in matching polyester blend pajama night gowns for a marathon line up of all of our favorite shows. Bowls of LIFE cereal in our laps, sunlight spilling through the front screen door. Glued to new episodes of Shirt Tales, Hello Kitty, Rainbow Bright, and Punky Brewster. Characters, circumstances, songs we just couldn’t get enough of. Mesmerized by rainbow powered excursions and the kind of tree house we would dream about the rest of our growing years.
Magic were those mornings.
Hours we looked forward to all week long and the first thing we thought about waking that day. Mornings locked in memories that still make us yearn for that kind of nostalgia the way I suppose we all start to around this age, mourning the end of an era marked by pieces of our past we will forever paint as the last road to simpler times. To our children who can’t possibly even know what it is they’re really missing. That big beautiful television cursed by unpredictable bouncing static lines, two big awkward antennas we learned to adjust just so, to get the clearest picture possible when it mattered most. Seven stations and two dial knobs I can still remember turning with some real effort, the heavy satisfying click that came with the switch of each new channel. No DVR’s, no Netlfix, no You Tube, no ipads , no iphones. No High Definition nothing. If you missed a week’s episode you heard about it best you could from the neighbor. Prayed for a rerun and kept a close watch for the following week’s much appreciated pre show recap. You sipped sugary milk from the remains of your breakfast bowl and spilled what was left carelessly on your way back to the kitchen to drop your dishes at the sink. Bare feet on clean linoleum floor. Knowing the promise of a new day somehow belonged most to you
And yet these days things are so different. Our children come armed with an endless array of tech savvy gadgets and television that cater to them in any way, shape or form they choose. Kids who will never know the utter sulk and disappointment that comes with missing something you loved and looked forward to for so long, because you accidentally overslept. Kid’s who can fast forward past commercials and who aren’t allowed over processed bowls of cereals in their laps anymore either. Not to mention hours of blissfully unmonitored T.V hours rolling into one after another.
All things I thought about this past weekend, ecstatic to see Pee Wee Herman made it to Netflix, where I spent one rainy Saturday in my robe with all my boys on the couch watching one of the shows that helped define my own childhood and couldn’t help but think, “man we had it good.”