Past, Present and Future

Among the dusty cardboard boxes that have followed my family from England to America, back to England, back to America and a couple of places in between my Dad recently found a cluster of old videos of our family.

They start from when I'm about nine years old with a horrific school play that seems to be about the rather odd subject of immigration. Also on the tapes is our family making the most of sunny Michigan Summer's, boat rides, trips to water parks and Disney World adventures.

Christmas also plays heavily on the videos, documenting them yearly through every single awkward moment of my teens. The acne, the bad hair cuts, the chubbiness. I will admit to being a rather vain person and perhaps the only good thing about being confronted by my ugly duckling past is that by comparison my twenties have been a cake walk.

My Dad has been giddy at unearthing these treasures. Every night after work he sits upstairs on his computer, editing out sections and labeling them "Christmas 1999", "Hannah School play", "Ben playing football" like he's making some fascinating documentary. There is something rather sweet about it really.

Dad and I are very similar in that we both enjoy reliving the past. We both know where we were when we first heard a certain song, or can smell something and automatically be transported back in time.

While I would enjoy escaping from the phase where I was 30lbs overweight and had a haircut that made me look like a boy (sadly this was from about 15 years old to 17), there is something amazing about looking at yourself as a nine year old and knowing that you really haven't changed (personality wise) at all.

There are also the shocking moments when I look at my Mum and realize (finally) how much I resemble her, not just in looks but in attitude and the way we both move. Seeing my Nan (who passed away in 2010) looking happy, healthy and chatting wildly at the dinner table is also a treat and something I'm pretty sure I'll be watching on repeat.

I used to get sad when I saw videos of my family from years ago. I think it's the same feeling I usually get on my birthday or New Years Eve, that time is moving too quickly and that somehow I'm not fulfilling the potential of that little, red-headed, nine year old girl who wanted to be a cartoonist. At that age anything is possible whereas at twenty seven everything is inextricably difficult. I wonder if on some way I've let her down and that my grown up cynicism is doing her a disservice.

There are four more tapes to go and the prospect of what they hold is quite exciting. And if they end up on youtube at least I can rest easy that the world will probably be more interested in my brother dancing to Michael Jackson's "Bad" when he as seven than they will be in me.