We eat together almost every evening in our house. Normal dinner conversation is usually entertainment enough. We share our days with each other or bond on some topic the kids are learning in school. Our best family night idea happened by accident last week.
Sometimes, as adults, we forget what we loved as kids.
When a discussion about my kids riding bikes turned into my husband and I trading Big Green Machine and Big Wheel stories – I knew we were in for a special conversation. We both lit up recalling our glory days climbing on roofs (yes, I did it) and riding our bikes on many adventures far from the eyes of our parents. We had the kids cracking up about Mommy’s lip-synch choices (Grease soundtrack and Le Freak disco). They loved the descriptions of record players from the “olden days.” I’m a fan of any activity resulting in uncontrollable laughter.
As an adult, I forgot. I forgot my love of those moments when my parents shared their childhood memories. I related to those play stories. It equalized us. I could contribute.
I focus on play all day long. I play with my kids, write about it, share it with others. But it’s always about my kids or kids their age. I forget to share my personal play experiences with my children. I discovered my husband and I rarely compare notes about our youngster playtime. It was especially fun for me to hear about his adventures as a little kid.