A Letter From Miss Sas: Memory Lane Is a Funny Place

Dear Friend,

I got my hair cut today.

Nothing too exciting about that.

But while I was sitting there waiting, this precious little four-year-old girl wandered over and decided me and my Diva looked like the right people to visit with.

Lord, that child could talk.

In about twenty minutes, we learned her name, both of her brothers’ names, that her older brother had his “thing,” her little baby brother had Cheerios, and she was watching Paw Patrol on her tablet for him.

Well... at least that was the plan.

A few minutes later she looked over at him and said, “He ain’t even watching Paw Patrol.”

So she changed it to Mickey Mouse.

Which, by the way...

He was watching Paw Patrol.

Then he was watching Mickey Mouse.

I don’t think he had a preference either way.

She also made sure we knew she was four, but she’d be five this month.

She showed us her bright pink cast and told us exactly how she’d broken her leg and had surgery. Then she told us all about her birthday trip to Pensacola. She was excited to go...

But she was mighty disappointed she couldn’t go out on the beach with that cast.

Then she held up the prettiest little beaded necklace with a sparkly unicorn on it.

“I’m a master artist,” she said.

And honey...

The confidence we all had when we were five years old ought to be bottled up somehow.

The whole time we were talking, her mama was over there doing what mamas do.

Keeping up with four kids getting haircuts before school starts.

Trying to answer questions.

Trying to keep everybody in one place.

Trying to convince them that after eating out for a solid week on vacation, they were absolutely not going eating lunch in town.

One wanted McDonald’s.

Another wanted Olive Garden.

Mama wanted to go home and eat the groceries she’d already bought.

I smiled because...

I’ve been that mama.

Maybe not in that salon.

But in plenty of waiting rooms.

Dragging kids from one appointment to the next.

Packing snacks like we were preparing for a three-day camping trip just to run errands around town.

Trying to remember who needed a haircut, who needed shoes, who had practice, and whether I’d remembered to throw something out for supper.

Back then, I don’t know that I realized I was making memories.

I was just trying to make it through the day.

And now...

Here I am sitting in a salon, listening to another little girl tell complete strangers her family’s life story, and all I could see was my own little Prissy.

She used to tell everybody our business too.

I’d forgotten that.

Or maybe I hadn’t forgotten.

Maybe I’d just packed it away somewhere until today.

Funny how memories work like that.

They don’t always come back because you go looking for them.

Sometimes they walk right up to you wearing a pink cast, carrying a sparkly unicorn necklace, and announcing they’re a master artist.

And before you know it...

You’re smiling at somebody else’s little girl while quietly missing your own.

Memory Lane sure is a funny place.

It’s beautiful.

And it’s bittersweet.