My Past Due New Year's Resolutions

As a kid, I remember watching Super 8 films on our small home projector and seeing my sisters and me as little children, my parents before any of us were born, lots of relatives and friends of my parents much younger than I knew them, and even more people that I didn't know at all. The films themselves were scratchy and jumpy and old; appropriately so, given that they contained images from long, long ago.

A couple of weeks ago we pulled out our own VHS tapes from when my two older daughters were little and watched them together, the five of us (including the 6 year old, of course). These images from fifteen to twenty years ago show my wife and me, looking young and naive and impossibly proud of our little daughters, recording every precious moment; and they show our two older girls - at 1 and 3, 2 and 4, 3 and 5 - playing, putting on shows, snuggling in front of the tv, pretending to be able to read, having tantrums, brushing teeth, celebrating birthdays and holidays, and doing all of the other things we all did together back then.

The videos are scratchy and jumpy and old. They include people who were dear to us at the time that I held the video camera to my eye: some that we still see regularly; others who have since left our lives because they've been taken from us or because we've neglected to stay in touch.

And my present-day 6-year-old daughter is me as a kid, watching in amazement as her older sisters romp on camera and as her much younger parents display their then burgeoning parenting skills, and watching in boredom as a bunch of strangers stand around talking to each other and mugging for the camera.

There's a wormhole thing going on here, connecting little me, to young parent me, to present day me; connecting Super 8 to VHS to iPhones and digital cameras; connecting ghosts of long, long ago to friends and family of twenty years ago to my circle of present day loved ones.

Even as a young child, I remember feeling like I was in that wormhole already, knowing that one day I'd be my parents, knowing that one day my beloved Bacon (childhood dog) would outlive her dog years and calculating how old I'd be when that happened, knowing that one day I'd be married to someone and wondering who that would be, and knowing that one day I'd have kids and wondering what that would be like.

I was wise enough back then to make an explicit effort to mark some key moments so I'd be able to go back to them when I needed to: New Year's Eve 1979 (the end of the decade of my childhood); my final campfire at the camp I attended until 1983 (watching the sparks from the fire rise into a clear Indianapolis night sky); February 7, 1976 (the night Darryl Sittler scored 10 points against the Bruins  and I was home alone watching the game in my parents' bed); and so on.

Time passes. We get older. Our kids become grown ups. Somehow, it has even happened to me.

The videos from my nephew's Bar Mitzvah this past weekend will one day be watched by a family I don't even know, and I will be one of those half-remembered people from long, long ago.

As much as I'd like to, I can't stop that from happening.

Instead, as we start yet another new year, I can (and do) make these resolutions:

• Truly mark the moments that matter: the times we're all together, the lifecycle events, the holidays, the milestones, and the mundane but important day-to-day activities that uniquely define the here-and-now (I will one day pine for the time I used to lace up my 6-year-old's skates for her, so I resolve to love doing that while it is still my privilege to do so).
• Capture the things that my daughters will one day need to know about this stage of their lives and our lives - in pictures, yes, but more importantly in words. I don't want to be a stranger to their great grandkids, and I don't have to be. I resolve not to be.
• Take care of myself. Medicine and science will lengthen our lives, but we're going to have to have healthy bodies and minds to make those extra years worth it. I'm doing pretty well right now in my (early!) 50's, but I can do better and I will.
• Really embrace the people around me because they won't always be within easy reach. Recognize their importance to me, don't take them for granted, and don't be petty with them. Things don't matter. People matter. I resolve to remember that.

Thanks for listening...David