If the hairs on the back of your neck were standing up and every single light around was on, there was a high probability that there was a Goosebumps book in hand. The horror fiction series focused on a child that encountered scary situations, and although they were frightening to read sometimes as a kid, you always had to find out what happened next. Goosebumps were more than words on a page– they were an escape.

My brother always spent spring through summer playing baseball in some of the most dirty and scorching hot locations. My family would drive all over to places sometimes three hours away for tournaments meaning I would accompany them, as well. Luckily, I would lug around a stack of Goosebumps books to read while the games ensued. This allowed me to get lost in some chilling tale for hours, while occasionally looking up as Will pitched or was up to bat. I even brought my books out to the team dinners that would follow and consume page after page at the table. On one occasion I had some trouble getting through one of the books as I was not the fastest reader.  I was really eager to know what was going to happen, however. One of Will’s teammates, Paul, an avid student, offered to read the book and provide me with a summary of the plot. I complied and handed him the book with a headless ghost glaring up from the cover.

After a fairly brief period of time, Paul sauntered over to me, examining the book in hand.  He sat down and then spent the next few minutes explaining h0w the ghost haunted the house and new family living there and even asked if I had any questions. I did not think too much of it at the time, but it was incredibly kind of him to spend his time helping me.

The Goosebumps series provided a way for me to enter another world while in some of the most bleak areas, and in retrospect, made me appreciate those times at the baseball diamond much more.

Before there were Bratz dolls that unfortunately resembled cheap hookers, American Girl dolls were in the hands of little girls across the country. In an array of ethnicities and backgrounds, American Girl had a doll for everyone– and customizing one to be your twin was also a popular option. Complete with appealing outfits and accessories, American Girl made caring for a doll fun.

Brushing the dolls realistic, silky hair and dressing her in clothes that I wish came in my size set the scene for the perfect day of play.  I could spend hours at a time up in my room interacting with my dolls and envisioning adventures for them to embark on around my house.  Playtime meant the full utilization of my imagination– to create a world where these dolls were real and could exist just like anyone else.  Since I would lose track of time up in my imaginary world, my mom would often come upstairs to check on me and find me still in the same spot entertaining myself.

The best experience with my American Girl doll happened during one summer when I was still in elementary school. My mom and I flew to Chicago to visit my grandparents, aunt and uncle, and cousins. We adventured through the Windy City and into the American Girl store (it was the only one at the time if I remember correctly). As I walked through the door I felt like I was entering a dream world– and it only got better when we went to have tea with our dolls. Inside the store was a restaurant where you could have a full on tea complete with sandwiches and sweets with your doll alongside you at the table. It was truly a little girl’s dream come true and something really special that my mom organized far in advance for me to enjoy.

American Girl dolls instantly remind me of that extraordinary trip for tea.  Although the dolls are still produced now, there are so many toys for young girls that it feels like they might be over looked a bit now. Regardless, those dolls will still remind me of my childhood.

The hands down best chapstick from childhood had to be from the selection of flavors by Lip Smackers. With a variety ranging from cotton candy to mango melon to Dr Pepper, there was a flavor for everyone. The bright, candy colored packaging only added to the appeal and made these delectable chapsticks look like sweets wrapped up ready for your lips.

Besides being undeniably addicting, Lip Smackers also transport me to my first experiences with beauty products.  Even at a young age I would enjoy watching my mom apply her makeup and the rare occasions when I was able to wear a little.  When every June would roll in with the first wave of the summer heat, so would my annual dance performances.  This meant that I would be able to wear a hint of color on my lips and cheeks so that my face stood out under the bright lights of the stage.  Putting on makeup always made me feel grown up, though I still was yet to reach double digits in age at this point in time.  I would always take one of my favorite scented lip balms with me in my dance bag to put on between dances in an attempt to keep the remaining bit of lip stick on my mouth.

When I was not fantasizing about wearing a hint of makeup, I was begging either my mom or my babysitter to take me to the nearest drugstore to select a new Lip Smacker.  For me, Lip Smackers were something collectible– the more flavors you had, the more options and though cotton candy could be the most treasured one, that new collection of soda flavors looked mighty appealing.  The endless options made chapstick fun and injected youthfulness into the elementary stages and phases of makeup use. To this day I still cannot hide my smile when passing the Lip Smackers section at the drugstore, as I’m still reminiscing about those delicious flavors that seemed to once be permanently on my lips.

Those black tiny letters huddled next to each other like they were cold on the page gave me anxiety. They forced me to struggle and stumble until it seemed like a million tries later the right pronunciation finally creeped its way on out of my mouth; that is why reading used to be my adversary.

In the beginning of my elementary school career, I spent about three hours a week being pulled aside and out into the hallway to work on my reading with a few other kids that also needed extra assistance. We would be huddled around the small, faux wood desk taking turns reading rudimentary (even at this early level) books. For some reason I did not quite understand exactly why I was selected to read to this older lady, perhaps it was because I was distracted by the glitter pencils I received, but I did know reading was definitely no friend of mine.

It was not until a good family friend, also an elementary school teacher, introduced me to the Magic Treehouse series.  Before these books, reading was something forced upon me so I could keep pace with my classmates, but after reading one, I instantly became hooked.  The stories revolved around two young kids who magically got transported all over the world to relive events of the past and explore new terrains. What was once a chore, now became a pleasure. I sped through the series, gobbling up every word, rapidly flipping the pages, anxious to read what would happen next.

Although there have a few been new stories published, the books I read growing up still serve as the originals. The Magic Treehouse sparked my interest in reading and enabled me to fall in love with a former enemy.

Before you could stream virtually every movie from your TV or laptop, people relied on VHS tapes to view their favorite movies or recordings. That meant, “Be kind, please rewind,” was a catch phrase you knew by heart and that entered your mind the second the movie ended.

As a child, my parents encouraged my brother, Will and me to play outside or entertain ourselves with our collection of toys.  However, sometimes we would be lucky enough to watch a movie (though movies did become synonymous with sick days at home). The old wooden dresser in our extra room upstairs housed a plethora of VHS tapes. Each drawer contained a variety of movies– from Disney films to action flicks, we had it all.  I can still fondly recall watching Space Jam with Will while my mom made dinner and thinking that it was so awesome.The times that we desperately wanted to see a newly released film meant tying up our sneakers and walking to the movie store at the shopping center.

Visiting Video Maniacs, essentially a locally run Blockbuster, always served as an exciting outing for me. Rows upon rows of films lined the store making the options seem endless. Although the goal was mostly to rent a new movie, I had my favorites in the back of my mind as backups in case nothing else looked enticing.  In the 90s and early 2000s, renting movies was a thrilling outing for me, providing an entrance into this almost fantasy-like world of films just waiting patiently on the shelves to be watched.

VHS tapes remained at the forefront of home entertainment until the arrival of the DVD.  Soon the clunky, black tapes collected dust instead of playing time as the thin, shiny DVD slid into people’s homes across the country.  Although it is a throwback to the past and how media was once enjoyed, VHS tapes still take me back to my childhood.  They are a reminder of a time before everything was instant and there was joy in waiting and searching for the perfect film to watch.

Growing up in Alameda, California, a small town nestled in the San Francisco Bay, going to local restaurants was always a fun outing for me as a child. The home where I grew up was only a ten minute walk from a quaint shopping center that is still home to my all time favorite pizza place called LaVals.

Though LaVals serves up delicious, thin crust pizza, it also housed a collection of vending machines that made pizza time even more memorable.  Sitting right near the entrance was the giant, looming, candy-claw machine that always seemed to miss your favorite flavor of Laffy Taffy.  Next to that was a racing game frequently populated by herds of young boys eager for their chance to play– but my all time favorite machine was directly across from the sounds of cars speeding by on the screen.  The elongated glass box held a smorgasbord of colorful stretchy choker necklaces.  For a small fee of 50 cents, you could plop your quarters in, wind it up, and then see your randomly selected choker roll down in its plastic bubble.

Every time that we would visit LaVals, be it with a babysitter, for my brother’s team baseball party, or a birthday party, I would plead for any spare change so that I could up my fashion game.  Soon enough, I had an impressive selection of orange, black, and even rainbow chokers to match with any outfit I put on.  I can still remember the excitement I felt when wearing my new orange choker on picture day in elementary school, and I can still recall my mom, a few years later, remarking how the choker looked like I had “a neck tattoo.” Regardless, those malleable, cheap accessories made me feel like a big shot.

Interestingly enough, the choker necklace is making a revival in the fashion world and I’ve spotted many girls wearing chokers identical to the ones I used to stretch over my head and on to my neck daily. Though they were forgotten for a little less than a decade, I guess everything old is really new again.

Hearing the words “Beanie Babies” instantly evokes images of adorable, pint-sized, stuffed animals in an array of colors and creatures. These tiny little guys transport me back to the late 90s when every child toted their Beanie Baby of choice around wherever they went. Beanie Babies crowded my bed, covered my floor, and even accompanied me on outings to the store with my mom.

Beanie Babies were such a success because of the diversity of animals available.  There was everything from dogs to dragons and boys and girls alike enjoyed playing with them.  I can still picture my shopping bag filled to the brim with Beanie Babies of all types and how jubilant I was to get back from school and spend time playing.  My love for these plush toys even inspired me to have a Beanie Baby themed party when I turned four, which was essentially heaven for me.  All my friends came over with their Beanie Baby of choice and we played an assortment of games with them before devouring birthday cake. Beanie Babies meant play time with friends– a crucial part of childhood that goes by way too quickly and we only realize how precious and simple that time was once we are older.

As the 90s began fading into the new millennium, people also began losing interest in these sweet and petite toys. Many people discussed saving their Beanie Babies and keeping them in good condition because they were collectibles that would one day go for a small fortune.  Though this day has yet to come, my personal collection of doe-eyed dogs, cats, birds, and pretty much every other species under the sun, remain close to my heart.  My assortment of Beanie Babies are something that I will be able to pass on to my children one day when they to get to experience the pure joy that comes from using your imagination during playtime.

Long before the time of iTunes and the iPod, kids used a portable CD player called the Walkman: a device that played one CD at a time and required AA batteries to operate.  Though it is like seeing a dog walk on its’ hind legs to see a person listening to a Walkman, it is still the precursor to the iPod and should not be forgotten too easily.

The Walkman was the simplest way to enter your own world and jam out to some music growing up. It provided portable music for family road trips up to Tahoe and another way for me to indulge in my creativity.  I would pop in a CD that I begged my parents to buy me, then spend my time drawing and listening to music in my room.  Now, I still do the same, except with an iPod– this generation’s answer to the Walkman.

However, the Walkman was more than just a device to hear my favorite songs.  As mentioned in previous posts, my brother and I did spend a good chunk of time hanging out together.  Will would devise clever playlists of music he was in to for me and burn them on a CD. The mixed CD– also an oldie, but a goodie– would then become my new choice of music for the next few months.  I think one of the best things about these CDs was that my parents never quite knew about the music my brother had mixed for me. A majority of the music was rap, meaning that there was a plethora of explicit words and inappropriate language; however, at the young age of 10, I did not exactly know what everything they were referring to meant. Rather, this music was a way for me to connect with my brother once again, and it also made me feel pretty cool knowing a ton of rap music that most other kids my age were not listening to on their Walkmans.

So despite everyone’s obsession with instant, downloadable music and the relief of not having to purchase an entire album, there is something to be said for the Walkman. It is a piece of technology that I associate with childhood and sharing music.  Though the Walkman is now rarely and barely seen, the tunes it provided me with are not forgotten.

Gel pens: the pen of the early 2000s utilized by every boy and girl that wanted to draw or write with flair– and one of my personal favorite writing tools from back in the day.  Growing up I was constantly drawing and creating detailed pictures of houses and their interiors.  My trusty box of gel pens provided an array of silky smooth colors to choose from to create these structures.  The gel pen’s ink always flowed onto the piece of blank paper like a continuous ribbon, livening up the white canvas with every turn of my wrist. While drawing with gel pens always provided me with a good time where I could explore my creativity, it also served as a way to interact with others.

One of my best friends from childhood also was a fellow gel pen aficionado and frequently had new colors.  This meant that at school we would both bring a handful of gel pens from our personal collections to school and share with one another.  This instantly made all the elementary school work that much more interesting for us.  Once dull and lifeless math problems now had a trail of glittery gel pen displaying the answer.  Writing in class now meant another opportunity to bust out these marvelous writing utensils and make the words all the colors of the rainbow.

Gel pens were not strictly associated with the classroom, however.  Whenever I would go shopping with my Mom at a home goods store in Walnut Creek, which I sometimes loathed, my mood would instantly be lifted when we approached the cards and stationary section that housed a nook of gel pens.  This place had a plethora of colors– pastel, neon, glitter– you name it, they had it.  So this routine of wandering around the store, trailing my mom as she poked around, turned into a game of me waiting until we reached the mesmerizing hub of gel pens.

These inky tools are nostalgic because they are more than just a forgotten tool of the past– they were my drawing utensil of choice, my pens to share with my best friend, and my occasional treat at the end of a day of shopping with my mom.

“It’s me, Mario!” is a simple phrase that still evokes the chipper tune of one of Nintendo’s best superheroes.  That red cap that sits atop a full head of bushy brown hair to match the full fledged mustache, instantly takes me into this digitized world of a malevolent fire breathing dragon, a damsel-in-distress princess, and an environment where glowing stars give you unearthly powers.  Super Mario and the Nintendo 64 were not only a departure from time spent playing with Barbies, but also a way to hang out with my brother, Will.

In today’s current climate, people spend more time with their eyes pasted to a cell phone screen than interacting with others.  Although I am completely aware video games are also another screen that provides a distraction, I have to argue that the N64 does not fall into this category.  Having an older brother meant that he would have friends over and they would all huddle around the TV, anxiously watching as Mario teleported into one of the pictures that opened up to a new environment.  This also meant that Will, being the kind older sibling, let me hang out with him and all his friends and participate in the video games. When his friends all had to go home, Will and I would still play a game together, cheering each other on and hurriedly warning the other to watch out for oncoming obstacles.

Another favorite game to play on the N64 was Mario Kart.  The player chose which character and courses they wanted to race on and then would accelerate down the track at lightening speed, sending turtle shells and banana peels onto the path of others. It positioned me against my brother in the battle for first place, but also brought out an exhortatory spirit as he often fed me tips and tricks to help me improve my game.

Although the N64 was later replaced in his room by the ever-popular Xbox, the time spent chipping away at different levels and careening down treacherous terrains will never fade from my fond recollection of childhood.