Childhood rears its pretty pink headI saw something shocking yesterday.
I was idly browsing through DVDs when an alarmingly pink box caught my eye. An alarmingly pink box bearing the words, "My Little Pony."
In disbelief, I snatched it. I read the back. I looked at the front. I turned it over and read the back again, flabbergasted that someone had actually put the show on DVD. Before that moment, it had never occurred to me that someone would resurrect '80s cartoons.
I don't believe I've ever been all that girly, but I admit it: I loved My Little Pony. Loved it. It and Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake and Care Bears and Jem and other things of that ilk.
I came THIS CLOSE to buying it.
But I didn't.
And, contrary to what you might think, only a little bit because I'd have felt silly.
The real reason is this voice in the back of my head that reminded me some things from childhood are best left there. Not because I think it's silly for me to like them as an adult, but because I might not.
There are some things you only appreciate when you're a child, when they're meant for you. You think of them fondly because your only memory is through your four- or six- or eight-year-old eyes. They still have magic that way. As long as I leave those memories alone, they always will.
But if I were to crack that pink box and start over, there's a chance I'd just think, boy, this show was inane. Which, in fact, it probably was. And for the rest of my life, that thought would taint my memories.
Sometimes we just don't need to grow up.
