The Little Things
By Jason Marshall
Who doesn’t love a good treasure hunt?
People are enamored with unearthing hidden gems—literally and figuratively. In literature. TV. Movies. Pop culture. Even ancient history.
Buried pirate gold under the X. Ponce de León and eternal youth. Pick any adventure of Indiana Jones.
There was Jacques Cousteau and undersea mysteries. Now, the addictive curse of Oak Island.
As kids, we chased gold at the bottom of cereal boxes or under the liner of a Pepsi cap.
In adulthood we still seek it. Instant-win scratch tickets. Scouring thrift store shelves. Or every time we drop a fishing line in the water.
It’s all around us. Also sealed inside us.
And the key to unlocking those riches?
Ice cream.
All it took was a text asking my favourite flavour of ice cream.
It led me to an inner vault I didn’t know existed. My answer unlocked it.
Childhood memories flooded out. Rapid fire and detonating like fireworks.
Ten-year-old me at the ice cream counter. Breath fogging up the glass, as I agonized over what two scoops I wanted. Tiger Tail looked amazing, but black licorice had no place in the ice cream world.
Licorice belonged with the penny candies. But you could also get lunch there. I was buying chuckwagons with my brother. Then touring around in his car, windows down and music blaring.
Then I’m at my first concert watching Ozzy Osbourne. Sitting beside Donnie. His dad drove us there. And there’s his mom and her homemade pizza. Crispy pepperoni on top of the cheese. Square slices.
Friday night sleepovers at his place. Crashing on the couch watching TV. Then waking up to Saturday morning cartoons and Atari until the sun set.
I’d bike the 10 minutes home, usually pedaling like my life depended on it. We’d just rented and watched Friday the 13th and I was convinced Jason Vorhees was one stride behind me the whole way.
The corner store had VHS tapes and, at first, we also had to rent a VCR. We binge watched movies before binge watching was cool. One night we plowed through Dirty Harry, Raging Bull and Mad Max. All three could handle Jason Vorhees. No doubt.
Movies were a pre-teen staple. Friday nights at the O’Brien Theatre in Arnprior. A Cheech and Chong all-night movie marathon. Now that’s random.
There were heart-pounding moments leading up to movie night. Seeking courage to ask a girl to go. Feeling regret if I didn’t. And anxiety if I did. Should I pretend I’m stretching and put my arm around her? Or just wait until she reaches for popcorn and do the same for a buttery hand hold?
The year The Outsiders movie was released I vowed I’d go alone. I knew I needed my full focus on Ponyboy, Sodapop and the Greasers. I’d gone to the library to borrow the book and couldn’t wait for the words to hit the big screen.
The library. I hear the creak of the plank flooring and smell the books as I walk through the big wooden front door. Then the tummy butterflies when returning a book three days late and having to pay a fine.
How much was the late fee? Maybe a quarter. But I needed my quarters for the arcade. Pac-Man and pinball weren’t free. Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger playing on the jukebox. Who could afford to drop a quarter in there when the world needed saving from Space Invaders?
And we needed our pennies to put on the railroad track so the train could flatten them out.
That was right beside my granny’s place. Her entire house would shake when the trains rolled by. And right behind her house was a little general store that sold hockey cards. Always looking for Guy Lafleur. Had his posters on my bedroom wall. His and Gary Carter’s. I was either going to play right wing for the Canadiens or be the Expos catcher.
I could hit home runs. Right over the hedge at my grandma’s house. Then after rounding the bases, I’d head to the creek next door to look for underwater treasure through my swim mask.
Random flashes went on for at least another hour. A busy brain and a full heart. I wholeheartedly recommend you try this. Let yourself go and unlock that memory vault. You’ll see firsthand the most valuable treasures can be little things from within. After all they make all the difference.
The little things and two scoops of pralines and cream.
Jason Marshall has been a writer and journalist for more than 35 years and is an on-air host and general manager at Valley Heritage Radio just outside of Renfrew, Ontario. And he’s truly a big kid at heart. You can email him anytime at jason@valleyheritageradio.ca.
