When wonders cease...

Today began and I got out of bed with a puffy face (a lingering reminder that my sleep was not quite deep enough or long enough), and I immediately went to my parents house. My purpose being to clean out the leftovers from the fridge I had conveniently forgotten about while they were on vacation. There’s something quite gloomy about an empty house that’s been purposely forgotten. I always feel the need to spend some quality time there as if to lift the house’s spirits and assure it that it won’t be forgotten for much longer. So during this visit, I decide to go through some of my old belongings.

As I’m rummaging, I come across a Warrant pin I had bought when I was about ten. Some of you may not know who or what Warrant is, but those of you familiar with the 80s know immediately that they were an awesomely bad hair band whose hit songs can be counted on one hand (a hand with two fingers cut off). As I recall, I purchased this pin at a gift store during a school field trip. It was one of those purchases made out of necessity - as in, “My parents had given me $5 to spend on anything I wanted and it was a necessity to spend it or else the $5 would be returned to where it came from” ($5 was like hitting the jackpot back then).

So I bought a plastic blow-up ball with sand in it (so when you threw it, it would wobble and become nearly impossible to catch) and a Warrant pin. I was attracted to this particular pin because of the caricature drawing of a fat man with a wad of cash in his hands (Warrant’s hit album at the time was Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich). I had also remembered a song of theirs that I liked and thought it would be cool if I had a pin of a popular band. [And just to add some insight, pins were actually very popular back then. All the kids had them and would put them on their backpacks at school.] This was actually my very first pin ever. I was extremely excited and wore that pin around the entire day. It’s amazing to me how I would remember such a small thing and the impact it had on me at that time.

Later this afternoon I went out to the ballpark to help out at the TV station’s booth. It was Kid’s Day so we had prizes and balloons to give out. One of my tasks was to hand out balloons to the kids (so easy a caveman could do it). And as I’m giving out these balloons I’m watching the excitement in the kid’s eyes. I’m watching their spirits rise, and I wonder if this is one of those moments they will remember forever - their very own “Warrant” moment maybe. This thought stays with me until I get home.

At home I realize that I have my one opportunity to cut the grass before the rain gets here. Cutting the grass is a monotonous chore and I tend to just shut off my mind and go with the flow (aren’t Ipods the best?). But today’s insignificant events made me think more about when I was a child. So as I cut the grass my memories of childhood in the country began to spring forth.

I remembered back to the days that my father would finally cut the overly long grass, and my sister and I would get so excited. We would tear off our shoes and race outside to follow behind dad on his riding lawnmower. It wasn’t because we wanted to help, but because the paths he cut through the grass was a wonderland. It was our secret maze we had to maneuver out off. I remember the feel of the soft grass beneath my feet, and lying down in it hidden by the surrounding walls of overgrown green. I remember the feeling of being completely in the moment. Of a wonder and amazement that can’t be duplicated. And as I’m reflecting on these childhood feelings, I begin to realize that I haven’t felt that way in a very long time. And it made me sad.

The world moves so fast now as an adult. We’re on from one thing to another and don’t have time to cherish anymore. Relationships come and go, as do our possessions. It’s a different kind of feeling now. A brief glimmer of what it used to be. Thinking back to those kids at the ballpark with the balloons, I worry about them. Especially because they’re part of a new generation of sensory overload and instant gratification. Will the balloons be just another fleeting moment or will it stick with them? In case you’re wondering, there is no moral to this story and I’m not looking for any solutions. It’s just a reflection on my day, and on a subject that has been contemplated many times by men far greater than me. It’s about a reality that’s too real to surprise us anymore. Just a part of being an adult I guess - Becoming disillusioned with wonder. Isn’t that a shame?