As parents of children growing up in the 80s, it was inevitable that we found ourselves part of the “home video” generation. What parent could afford to miss capturing every single moment in the life of their son or daughter? And what Baby Boomer this side of the Beatles couldn’t remember the grainy 8mm clips of Christmases past that parents were obliged to show only on special occasions?
Wrapped in the newest Betamax technology we, too, found ourselves trying to record all those special moments when either Betsy or Andrew were forced to “perform” or coaxed into doing that “cute little thing you do” one more time.
While the concept was originally intended to record those endearing “life-changing” moments, family holidays could seemingly turn into media events with each sibling jockeying for position, video camera in tow, trying to capture the best light or get the best angle of each present opened by every niece and nephew.
And I’m quite sure, to each of us, those countless hours are treasures that are now stored somewhere safely and tucked away in our own individual lives.
But every so often a tape is discovered among the movies and recordings of old Ohio State football games that too have started to gather dust. And with each viewing we find certain moments that take us back to a time that surely must have just happened yesterday. Seeing images of places where we no longer live, or hearing the voices of loved ones now gone, is truly the magic that holds us to the past.
Part of that past were the happy times when each child celebrated a birthday. Of course, there was the obligatory first birthday party for Andrew when I simply couldn’t get enough footage of the chocolate cake that touched every part of his face but his mouth.
When a child turns one, it’s merely to acknowledge a passing in time. When they turn two, however, there’s a marked difference on their part in knowing what’s happening around them and noticing the excitement that comes with having a birthday.
And so it was when Betsy turned two. We gathered at her grandparent’s house to celebrate. In the dimly lit hours of early evening, the warm glow of two birthday candles danced as stars in her big bright eyes.
As the final strains of “Happy Birthday” came to an end, Betsy leaned over the table from her perch on top a dining room chair. And with one strong breath of air she snuffed the candles out. With steadfast eyes she glanced up at her mother, “Where did the candles go?”
But with the innocence that only occurs in the heart of a two-year-old, Betsy simply answered her own question, “They’ll be back!”
As the children grew older, the fascination to record every waking moment became something you did just on “special occasions.” Eventually, the video camera found its way to the corner of a closet.
Perhaps we have learned that instead of trying to capture the passing of our children’s lives through the lens of a camera, it’s more peaceful and much more enjoyable to simply watch the events as they unfold.
Technology has already surpassed that wondrous invention called videotape. And, eventually, we’ll be forced to transfer this family history from one medium to another.
Cell phones can beam memories across the world instantly. Simple freeze frames that, once erased, become digital dust. And somewhere, in the improbable future, technology will allow us to record these instant images on some embedded chip that we can recall with a mere blink of an eye.
In these early moments of a new millennium, however, we still call those images memories.
And tomorrow, when Betsy walks on stage as a 22-year-old woman to receive her college diploma, her family will sit and simply watch…and enjoy. There won’t be any video cameras on hand to record the event. There will, I'm sure, be some pictures taken to record the smiles and capture the day.
As for the memories?
They’ll be back.