Revisiting my childhood

I had a very happy childhood.

I was lucky enough to have loving, responsible, easy-going parents, parents who didn’t split up and who never argued in front of the kids. Dad worked hard to earn money to give us the essentials, and nice things, and holidays. Mum threw herself into motherhood with a passion, and as a result I have fond memories of long summers full of games, walks, picnics, crafts, paddling pools, and treats… birthday parties that every child in my class wanted to be invited to… Christmas decorations and perfect presents…

And not only that, but things in general just seemed so much more pleasant as a small child. No money worries, no heartbreak, no need to look any further ahead than dinner time. The days were long and happy, and a year was like a lifetime. My childhood was full of trips to the seaside, and dressing-up boxes, and Creamola Foam, and pets, and The Beano, and school holidays, and colouring-in books, and Timmy Mallet, and Barbie dolls, and tree-climbing, and Fast Forward magazine, and the ice cream man, and sleepovers, and Push-Pops, and the park, and Ulster Fries at granny’s house on a Saturday morning, and board games, and dolls’ prams, and running races to the end of the street, and kites, and all sorts of other stuff that makes me smile when I remember it.

I love to see kids playing games that remind me of my own childhood. I love to visit the seaside and get a little taste of the childish excitement that that caused when I was little. I love to see a clip from one of my favourite childhood TV shows. I love to be reminded of the sweets and toys I enjoyed. I love the jingle of the ice cream van, or the smell of an Ulster Fry. I love looking at childhood photos.

Revisiting my childhood. It just makes me happy.