I spent the first part of my childhood growing up in a small town. You know, the kind of place where everybody knows everybody and so you can’t get away with anything without your mom being immediately called. It was a big relief when we moved to a big, anonymous, suburb.
Anyway, because small town Kansas was such a large part of my childhood, I stay connected with it through a Facebook page for people who grew up there. No one would be surprised to know that none of my friends actually stayed in that small town. Instead, they moved to giant cities–places where they actually have a McDonald’s.
In spite of the fact that I rather loathed small town life, there are several small and happy memories that I still carry with me from that era. One of the happiest is the memory of a pair of halter tops I had when I was four years old. My teenage babysitter had made for me, and, you guys, those halter tops were AMAZING! One was light blue (that was my favorite of the two) and the other was white. They both had small Disney character patterns. They tied around the back at a level just above my skinny four year old waist, and–here’s the best part–around the neck with a piece of rope.
I’m totally underselling these halter tops. I guess I should explain that it was not a tie up your hostage type of robe, but the kind that are fashioned on tote bags that your well-meaning grandma might purchase for you thinking they’d make a great beach tote.
Anyway, today the former teen babysitter (She’s now a grandmother, but no word on whether or not she has purchased one of those bags for a grandchild) made a comment on a post on the Facebook page, and I realized it was her. I had discovered the maker of the world’s most amazing halter top(s)!
I quickly tagged her in a comment, asking if she was, truly, the tank top creator. And, you guys, it hurts me to say this but….but… she said she doesn’t remember! I will quote her, “I sewed a lot, so it might have been me.” That’s it? She doesn’t remember? It doesn’t seem possible.
I took a look at her picture again, and I wondered if she’s now at an age where her memories have started slipping. That must be it. It’s the only thing that could possibly explain how she’s not sure if she made those amazing tops.
I was so devastated, that I lamented my story to my 17 year old daughter. “Wow, I’d like one of those tops,” she said. “Does she still sew?”
I’d ask her, but in her obviously altered mental state, it’s probably best to just let things be.