Unless you’re a gifted and talented psychic or are renting-to-own a time machine, the future is a place most of us haven’t spent a lot of time knocking around in.
So the only thing we can do about the future is prepare for it in a way we think we’re going to like years from now.
That’s why when we lovingly tuck away Toodle’s first-grade dinosaur coloring book with the other 783 pictures that tiny Toodles drew during the month of April 1987 (using only his blue crayon) along with a clip of his hair and a wad of his first piece of chewing gum in a waterproof, earthquake proof, nuclear-plant meltdown safe container, we know Toodle will thank us from the bottom of his heart one day when he wants to show someone how wonderful he was.
So even though we secretly suspected that the twice-a-year school pictures multiplied by 12 years might be a tad too much Toodle, we lovingly preserved what turned out to be 14,000 pictures of Toodle in every conceivable stage of growing up in 247 boxes labeled ” Toodles –Important” and carefully stored them in the Toodle designated storage area called the garage.
Will Toodle really want all this memoribilia someday? Answer: no.
So why do parents do this? For one reason and one reason only. To prevent the following nightmarish scenerio in which the storage of Toodle’s memoribilia went terribly terribly wong.
Fast forward to the year 2040
You and your husband are relaxing on the stainless steel couch sipping Clockwork Orange juice in matching white jumpsuits looking exactly as you do now only with a tiny bit of gray at each temple. In pops Toodle looking just like he did in first grade only taller.
“Mother, Father, I’d like you to meet my new girlfriend ThX1138. She wants to see my first grade picture.”
You dash to the garage. Instead of reaching for the Box labeled Toodle’s First Grade Pictures, BOX 1 of 45, you manage to find one crummy shoebox smooshed behind the lawn mower with the words “What’s His Name” scribbled on top. Hands slightly shaking, you carefully lift the lid and are horrified to find just one lousy picture of Toodle with the words “what’s his name, age 8 or possibly 9” scribbled on the back in blue crayon. Averting your eyes from Toodles’s piercing gaze, you carefully hand it to THX1138.
She takes it in her slender hand and asks, “Why’s there gum on it?”
You run to your to your room and cry yourself to sleep for being such a horrible parent.
Much as we would like to think that our future selves will appreciate the efforts of said self here in the present, we got another thing coming.
Until next time . . . I love you