Throwback Thursday — Childhood Memories

You see, if I just sit here silently and let my mind drift back, it all comes rushing in. The warmth of the sun, so real I can feel it caress my skin. My friends' laughter, careening down our arid road. And that taste—the unique, cool crispness of a Bobo drink on a hot afternoon. To me, childhood wasn't an age but a mood. Totally free and light where laughter came easily and troubles had not yet caught up with me.

The scent I remember best? It has to be those shapes biscuits, the instant you tear open the crinkly packet. I'd always have one in the palm of my hand at first, tracing the contours with my fingers—a star, an animal, who cares?—before that initial crunchy bite. And it was never complete without that bottle of Bobo, kept in the refrigerator. That sweet, creamy taste was like a magical incantation for the ultimate experience. It wasn't a snack. It was a small, moveable piece of bliss, you know?

And the place we actually lived in was not our house—it was our makeshift football pitch in the street. Our "ball" was sometimes just a bundle of poly bags tied tightly around each other. But it did not matter. We played for all that mattered, bare feet kicking up puffs of dust, squabbling over goals which were only two stones spaced out. The cheering and yelling of all the children in the neighborhood… that patch of ground there was our own little universe. Whatever was significant, that's where everything went on.

And then there was the sound that heralded family time: the opening music of Super Story. Every Thursday evening, after supper, we would all march into the living room. The minute that music played, silence would fall. No one was on their phone, no one was preoccupied. We were just. together, lost in the melodrama, laughing at the same places. Even now, if by chance I hear that song, I'm instantly there, sitting on the floor, leaning against my mom's legs, feeling completely safe.

But the grand memories? Those Ibeno Beach vacations are attached to my mind. I can still recall the sea breeze, listen to the waves crashing and then whispering as they receded. I can remember racing along the water's edge, the wet sand sharp beneath my feet, feeling so small against that enormous, endless blue. It was sheer serenity. Life was so simple then.

A normal day back then was in itself perfect. School in the morning, then the mad rush out into the playtime outside until the street lights came on. Supper with family, maybe some TV time, then off to bed. Nothing to worry about, no lengthy list of things to accomplish. We were simply. living.

Now? Things are different. I've grown up, and along with that the duty of being an adult. It all comes faster, and the things to do list are limitless. But on the bad days, when it's all too much, I permit myself to return. I recall the taste of that biscuit, the hardness of the dusty path under my feet, the call of the sea. And I smile.

Because that lad who found magic in a carton of drink and an envelope of crisps? He's still around. And he reminds me that sometimes the most lovely things don't have to be complicated.