I was ringing up a customer today at work. It was a woman, and she had her son with her. The boy was drinking a Capri Sun. He finished the last drops and then he blew air through the straw, blowing it back up to its filled shape. Just like I always did when I was a kid. When I was his age. Everyone always did that. And then he said, “Look mom, just like brand new.” Just like we always did. I remembered all that. And I was overcome by that nostalgia. I wanted to run around the store, let tears run off my face, and scream about how I wish life were simple again, how I miss being a kid, and how I wish I could have not taken it for granted. But I couldn’t. I was at work, being an adult.