I loved being a kid. I loved camping with my Girl Scout troop, learning how to French braid my hair, administering cootie shots, spending hours knotting friendship bracelets, reading my future via M.A.S.H. and origami fortune tellers, delighting in the first sixty or so volumes of The Babysitter’s Club, wishing I was Gem from Gem & the Holograms, puff-painting my Keds, and drinking Suicides in between Wilson Phillips songs down at the roller-skating rink. Being a kid, especially a kid with a solid group of friends and a loving (if sometimes preoccupied) family, was totally freakin’ awesome!
So, imagine my surprise and joy when my daughter, who is rapidly approaching her 6th (6th!?!) birthday, sits me down and proceeds to “teach” me the “Downtown Charlie Brown” clap game. Clap games! Another burnished jewel in the crown of my idle, indulged youth! Sitting with my girlfriends under the twisty slide at the YMCA playground clapping, slapping, and chanting endless silly rhymes. And imagine my daughter’s surprise when I start singing the “down by the roller coaster” part with her. And then imagine her frustration when I sing “shimmy, shimmy coco-bop” instead of “shimmy, shimmy coconut.”
“That’s the version I know, sweetie,” I tell her.
“Okay, Mom. But the real version goes ‘coconut’,” she replies.
The real version? Oy. I think I just got my first wrinkle.