I want the innocence of the 1970s again. Of rollerskating to disco music as a kid. Roller coasters, carnival food, the Jersey shore. Fireworks displays, sidewalk chalk, the ice cream man. I miss the feel of an old phone, a real phone, that has an honest weight to it, with analog signals on actual wires. I miss arcades and the stupid cacophony of beeps and blips and explosions like the sound of distant thunder. Of coins dropping into slots. I miss the impromptu afterwork parties or team off-sites that came later, roller skating or consuming beer and bad pizza at bowling alleys swearing and flirting with my coworkers in rented shoes. I miss all those times before the internet and social media and dictators started ruining our country.

But it felt good to drive into Seattle for a protest rally today and be surrounded by other angry people. The comfort of community and people waving signs, carrying flags, acting civilized though all of us were really pissed. People advocating for our friends in Canada, our allies around the world, for immigrants and trans people, for vets, LGBTQ, for science, social programs, for due process under the law, for democracy. All these people with signs in the April sun.

I missed all of it driving home from the protest rally while Charlotte played songs by ABBA on her phone and we sang in the tunnel headed back to our uncertain futures.

I felt a moment of loss for Charlotte that she had to grow up in times like this. That she didn’t care about the view of the mountain compared to the scenes on her phone.

But I guess the 70s weren’t so great either. We just had more time to be kids.

Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Poetry, prose

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, pacific northwest, parenting, prose, Seattle