Shoot Me If I Ever Start Talking About the Good Old Days

Nothing makes my eyes roll up into my head as much as a conversation that begins with, "You know, when I was a kid, " or "It used to be that ..."  or other words to that effect.  The reason for my dislike is twofold.  These words are either a prelude to a complaint or the beginning of a nostalgic soliloquy involving  people I will never know, or places I have never been, but in which I must feign interest . 

The prelude to some complaint or rant is by far the most annoying of these.  They generally involve explaining how much better things used to be.  Memories of a time that never really existed, told from a long gone and somewhat hazy childhood fail to sway me into believing that everything used to be so much better than today.   These stories seldom recall the fact that children were sheltered from the harsh realities of  life.  Mom and Dad did not share their fears of putting food on the table or paying the rent. They did not explain that grandma passed away because no one could come up with the money to pay for her operation.  They do not mention that the neighbor beat his wife regularly, but no one said anything because it was none of their business.  

These hazy childhood memories completely ignore the fact that the world was not a happy place for everyone.  Ask about people who had to go to separate but not equal schools, ask about the separate restrooms and drinking fountains, ask about the fun cross burnings.  I did once and the answer I got was, "Well I don't know about that,"  but the good old days continued on unabated.  Really, this does not sound better to me. 

The other good old days stories are easier to fore bare.  Yes, I realize the family and community history is important.  It makes us who we are.  But really, do I have to hear the story of the shade of yellow the kitchen was in 1942 again.  Tell me real stories, why the family moved to a new state, how grandma and grandpa met.  I'm sorry, but I can not make myself care about the darling little three legged dog the neighbor down the street had. 

I do not want to be one of those people.  I do not want to spend my senior years thinking that everything that was good is gone.  I do not want to look at the world as though it has nothing left to offer me.  There have always been, and always will be both good and bad and I want to see them both.  And most especially I do not want to say, "You know, back in the good old days we had dial-up and we were perfectly happy about it."