#nostalgia

[retrogamingblog2]

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️

[ghstbrned]

I don't know if it reminds me of myself, or my ex-lover. But either way it feels the same. He always will be.

sometimes i feel so happy sometimes i feel so sad sometimes i feel so happy but mostly you just make me mad baby you just make me mad

[somos-deseos]

𐚁 Fragmentos de fotolibro Seguen ∅ríah | A mí también me duele, pero prefiero guardar silencio 𓉸ྀི.

PD: Si todavía te duele, todavía te importa.

[retrogamingblog2]

[goobersplat]

Hamtaro m915 Rare Nemunemu Hamchans Mini Figures

(Image ID: Six Hamtaro character figures sleeping on pillows. From left to right: Hamtaro on yellow, Bijou on blue, Pasmina on pink, Penelope on green, and Snoozer on purple.)

[jaundicedcellardweller]

I have used all of these (minus NT) and if you ask me, 95 and xp are the best for the evening hacker cellar vibe.

Windows Start Menu appreciation post

Windows 95 (1995)

Windows NT Workstation (1996)

Windows 98 (1998)

Windows 2000 (2000)

Windows Me (2000)

Windows XP (2001)

Windows Vista (2007)

Windows 7 (2009)

[acquired-stardust]

Kirby: Nightmare in Dream Land Gameboy Advance 2002

[witchrealms]

(x)

[internetpet]

various webkinz cakes found on the web !!

[tragicslip]

NGC 6960, The Veil

[another-blues-clues-day-hooray]

[mgdln333]

[retrogamingblog2]

Pokemon Galaxy Watercolor Art made by Sara Seferian

[duckinatruck]

yesss my entire elementary school called it “the teacher game” and every time it happened at least one kid would just scream TEACHER GAME!! *sigh* simpler times

That relatable (older) Gen Z memory: when all the projectors and white boards got replaced by Smart Boards™ around like fifth grade and none of the teachers knew how to use them but they Had To Use them otherwise the school just wasted a bunch of money and it was a rlly weird transition