Does it ever seem to you that the past was actually much more pleasant than it seemed at the time? There was a rosy glow we didn't appreciate? Do you ever wonder why? Did we just forget the bad parts?
Let me tell you what I think.
My father had been a career naval officer and my mother a southern belle of the steel magnolia variety. My two brothers and I knew that when she put her foot down, no force on earth could move it. Once I asked my aunt, her six years younger sister, what it was like growing up with my mother. With no hesitation she replied "She terrified me."
In the mid 1950s my father commanded a Navy destroyer in Seattle. He was at sea about half the time. My mother didn't like being alone with a two-year old and us two older boys. She didn't like the weather, she didn't care much for Seattle, she was grouchy no matter how much we tried to help her. Perhaps by nature children are more optimistic, so we liked Seattle. I was happy to be old enough for a paper route, which I completed while bicycling home from school. Soon enough time passed and we moved to Dad's next duty station, Annapolis. Mom loved it and returned to her normal friendly bootcamp sergeant self.
I left home in 1962. In the early 1970s all the books and magazines that appealed to my age group started publishing articles about how terrible our generation's parents were. Still too young to get the whole picture, I agreed. By then I had returned to Seattle. One day, to check out my memories of those days in the 1950s I put my bicycle on the back of my car, drove up there, and parked near my old school. As best I could, I retraced my paper route and then headed to our house on North 203rd Street. For some reason, a few blocks short of that house there was an unusual scent in the air, something I couldn't describe then and can't describe now. It was there for just a few seconds as I passed a house. In that moment, I felt happy and content. I realized that in those days, I did not head home in apprehension, but in happiness.
My parents set high standards, but they followed those standards themselves. They devoted their lives to ensuring that we wouldn't suffer the trials their families had in depression-era Texas. They made sure we learned self-discipline and completed our schoolwork. They trusted and supported our teachers. In us they instilled loyalty, care for others, the Methodist religion, fairness, respect for authority, and self-determination. When we failed to come up to the mark, my mother performed emotional surgery for any fault discovered... without anesthesia.
Often we think the past looks better than the present. Just like the grass looks better on the other side of the fence. Maybe that's not simply because memory is selective. Maybe the past looks better because it's difficult to see what's right in front of our faces today, right now. I look back at some of the decisions I've made in life, decisions that seemed right at the time, and I am amazed at my blindness for the situation I was in. I groan at my inability to see the concerns of those around me. As I close in on the last part of life I hope to get more of it right while there's still time. I believe that if I could just see what was in front of me at all times, then I would be seeing God.