You know what’s interesting about getting older?
It’s not the aches and pains or the fact that I can’t remember where I put my reading glasses (they’re usually on top of my head).
It’s the way certain memories from decades ago can still crack a smile across your face like it all happened yesterday.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially after reading Rudá Iandê’s new book Laughing in the Face of Chaos (I’ve mentioned this book before, but it keeps offering new insights).
One passage particularly struck me: “We live immersed in an ocean of stories, from the collective narratives that shape our societies to the personal tales that define our sense of self.”
And it’s true, isn’t it? The stories we carry from our youth, those shared experiences that defined a generation, they’re not just nostalgia. They’re the foundation of who we became.
So if these nine memories still bring that knowing grin to your face, chances are you had a childhood that was pretty special.
1. Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of sugary cereal
There was something almost sacred about Saturday mornings back then.
You’d wake up early (earlier than you ever did for school) and tiptoe to the living room in your pajamas. The house was quiet except for the sound of cereal hitting the bowl and the familiar theme songs blasting from the TV.
No streaming services. No pausing or rewinding. If you missed an episode, it was gone.
And honestly? That made it better somehow. There was an urgency to it, a commitment. You had to be there, present, or you’d miss out entirely.
The simplicity of having just three or four channels meant we all watched the same shows, talked about them at school on Monday, and shared that common cultural language. It connected us in ways that endless content libraries never quite replicate.
2. Playing outside until the streetlights came on
Remember when your parents would basically shove you out the door after breakfast with a simple instruction: “Be back when the streetlights turn on”?
No cell phones. No GPS tracking. No constant check-ins.
We’d disappear into the neighborhood for hours, building forts, riding bikes, playing elaborate games of hide-and-seek or kick-the-can that involved the entire block. Sometimes we’d venture to the creek or the woods, coming home with scraped knees and dirt under our fingernails.
Looking back, I realize our parents weren’t being careless. They were giving us something invaluable: freedom to explore, to take small risks, to solve our own problems when someone fell off their bike or an argument broke out over game rules.
We learned to navigate the world without a safety net constantly beneath us. And while I’m not suggesting parents today should adopt the exact same approach, there was definitely something to be said for that kind of independence.
3. The excitement of a long-distance phone call
Can you remember the weight that a long-distance call used to carry?
If the phone rang and someone said, “It’s Aunt Martha calling from California!” the whole family would gather around. Everyone wanted to say hello. We’d keep it brief because those minutes were expensive, but it felt important. Special.
Nowadays, we can video chat with someone on the other side of the planet without giving it a second thought. But back then, hearing a loved one’s voice from far away meant something. It required effort, planning, and yes, a bit of financial sacrifice.
That scarcity made connection feel more precious. We savored those conversations instead of taking them for granted.
4. Handwritten notes passed in class
Before texts, before emails, before instant messaging, there were notes.
Folded into impossibly small squares or elaborate origami shapes, these little pieces of paper contained everything: gossip, jokes, declarations of friendship, sometimes even confessions of crushes.
The thrill of receiving one during a boring math class was unmatched. And the risk! Getting caught meant potential embarrassment as the teacher read it aloud or confiscated it.
But those notes were our lifeline to each other. They were tangible proof that someone was thinking about you, that you mattered to them enough to risk detention.
I still have a few tucked away in a box somewhere. Every once in a while, I come across them and smile at the silly, innocent concerns that felt so monumentally important at the time.
5. Making mixtapes for friends (or crushes)
As I covered in a previous post about the art of patience, waiting used to be part of the experience, and nowhere was that more true than creating the perfect mixtape.
You’d sit by the radio for hours, finger hovering over the record button, waiting for your favorite song to play. Then you’d carefully arrange the tracks, making sure the flow was just right, and hand-decorate the cassette label.
If you made one for someone special? That was basically a declaration of your feelings without having to say a word.
The effort involved (the time, the thought, the curation) said “you matter to me” in a way that a Spotify playlist link never quite captures. Not that there’s anything wrong with playlists, mind you.
But there was something romantic about the analog effort.
6. Watching movies at the drive-in theater
Piling into the family car in your pajamas, parking under the stars, hooking that tinny speaker to your window: the drive-in was an event.
Sometimes we’d sneak into the trunk to watch from the back with blankets and pillows. The picture quality wasn’t great, the sound was worse, and you couldn’t pause for bathroom breaks. But none of that mattered.
It was about the experience: the summer night air, the smell of popcorn drifting from the concession stand, the feeling that you were part of something bigger than just watching a movie.
Most drive-ins are gone now, replaced by multiplexes with stadium seating and surround sound. Technology marches on, but something was definitely lost along the way.
7. Having only one TV in the house (and fighting over what to watch)
This one probably caused more sibling arguments than anything else, right?
One television. One program at a time. If Dad wanted to watch the news, that’s what the family watched. If it was Saturday night, maybe you got to pick the show. But mostly, you learned to negotiate, to compromise, to take turns.
It forced us to be together, even when we didn’t necessarily want to be. We’d end up watching programs we’d never have chosen on our own and sometimes (surprisingly) we’d actually enjoy them.
These days, everyone can retreat to their own screen, their own carefully curated content bubble. It’s more convenient, sure. But we’ve lost that shared viewing experience, those common cultural touchstones that came from everyone watching the same limited selection of shows.
8. The magic of getting film developed
Remember dropping off a roll of film and waiting days (sometimes a week) to see how your pictures turned out?
You’d rip open that envelope at the photo counter, flipping through prints with no idea if you’d captured that perfect moment or accidentally cut off everyone’s heads. Half the roll might be blurry.
Several shots would have your thumb in the corner. But those few good ones? Pure gold.
That anticipation, that delayed gratification, made photography feel more precious. You had 24 or 36 shots per roll, so you thought carefully before pressing the shutter. Each photograph represented a conscious decision to preserve that moment.
Now we take hundreds of photos a day and delete most of them. The abundance has made images disposable in a way they never were before.
9. Sunday dinners where everyone actually showed up
Sunday dinner wasn’t optional in most households back then.
The whole family gathered around the table: grandparents, parents, kids, sometimes aunts and uncles too. Phones didn’t ring (well, they might have, but nobody would dare answer during dinner).
There was no scrolling, no texting, no “just let me check this one thing.”
We talked. We told stories. We laughed. We argued sometimes, sure, but we were present with each other in a way that feels increasingly rare.
I try to recreate this with my own grandchildren when I can, though I’ll admit the pull of devices makes it harder. But there’s something about that ritual (the gathering, the sharing of food and time) that anchored us to each other and gave us a sense of belonging.
Final thoughts
If these memories resonate with you, if they still bring a smile or maybe even a little ache of nostalgia, it means something.
It means you were part of a generation that experienced a particular kind of growing up, one that was slower, simpler in some ways, and certainly less connected technologically but perhaps more connected in other, deeper ways.
Were those times perfect? Of course not. Every generation has its challenges, its blind spots, its things to learn from.
But that doesn’t make those memories any less valuable or the experiences any less formative.
So here’s my question for you: Which of these memories makes you smile the biggest?
And more importantly, what are you doing to create meaningful moments for the next generation, ones that might make them smile just as broadly fifty years from now?
