“Kids don’t play with the same toys as they did when I was a child,” dad said last night as he crossed his legs and scanned the new digital channels on my TV. He was especially interested in the BBC nightly news. “You all had Nintendo's and I had Mexican jumping beans to keep me preoccupied.”
I laughed whole heartedly. For some reason, this just stuck me as so funny.
“I would get tired of watching my beans twitch and jerk and then I would go out to play in the yard.”
“Now you are going to tell me you also walked to school in three feet of snow,” I replied with that old and stale cliché.
“You know what my favorite summer toy was?” dad said. “I used to catch a June bug and tie a string to it’s hind leg and then it would fly around tethered to my thread. It was a poor boy’s toy helicopter.”
I smiled and leaned back in my chair. I love hearing stories of dad’s childhood. It seemed like such a simpler and kinder time of life. Dad went on to regale me in tales of all his alcoholic uncles. They were funny, yet so sad at the same time. I listened intently, nodding my head when I had done something similar. I love my father dearly and we had a good time last night during my medication ritual.