My grandmother was five years old when Wilbur and Orville took their first flight over Kitty Hawk. I’m not sure Gramma remembered the world prior to that momentous day or if she was even aware man had just taken flight. History defined the moment.
I was five years old when the Hula Hoop arrived on the scene. Although not earth shattering by any stretch for kids in 1958 it was a real game changer. I’m betting history didn’t even notice.
I was ten when JFK was assassinated. We were dismissed from school at lunchtime – I remember my teacher crying, his red face cradled in his hands. I’d never seen a man cry. I didn’t know enough to be sad – I was a little girl sent home from school early on a chilly Friday afternoon – history defined the moment even as I celebrated my good luck.
In 1989 protests broke out in Tiananmen Square, my mother died and my kids got rollerblades for Christmas. History and I will never be the same – the rollerblades hit the trash the very next year.
My granddaughters are into scootering right now and have lots of time to practice, going to school is optional. A virus arrived and suddenly sleeping-in is all the rage, hurrying is on hiatus. While grown-ups deal with Covid numbers, job losses and death, kids are deciding whether or not to brush their hair.
These are anxious times – I spend hours everyday glued to the news, the television drones in the background even as I try to pull myself away. The world as we knew it is a thing of the past. Added to the virus worries are the global protests, the civil unrest. It’s almost too much. And as my granddaughters scooter down the street history will define this moment.