Americans have a remarkable fondness for the good old days. We love talking about simpler times, traditional values, and getting back to the way things used to be. It all sounds rather charming until you start considering what that might actually involve. Because while I’m perfectly happy to admire the past, I’m not particularly interested in giving up the present.
Take the traditional family dinner, for example. Everyone gathered around the table, enjoying a delicious home-cooked meal, sharing stories about their day, and afterward relaxing on the front porch with a nice glass of iced tea. Doesn’t that sound lovely? Of course, someone had to plan the meal, shop for the ingredients, cook the food, set the table, clear the dishes, wash everything, and clean the kitchen. And I’m fairly certain that someone wasn’t Dad, who was already sitting on the porch enjoying his iced tea. As a woman, I have a sneaking suspicion I’d be spending considerably more time in the kitchen than on that porch. Suddenly, the good old days don’t sound quite so relaxing.
Then there are the hobbies. Americans love celebrating rugged self-reliance, particularly when it involves chopping wood, hunting dinner, or surviving in the wilderness. I admire people who possess these skills. I really do. But I have absolutely no desire to sleep in the dirt, cook over an open flame, or spend my vacation wondering whether something with four legs is going to eat me. My idea of camping involves a comfortable bed, air conditioning, and preferably room service. If I wanted to struggle for food, I’d make dinner reservations without checking availability first.
And what about preppers? We love making jokes about people stockpiling canned goods, building underground bunkers, and preparing to live without modern civilization. Yet isn’t that precisely the sort of self-sufficiency we claim to admire? We celebrate the pioneering spirit right up until someone starts storing fifty pounds of rice in the laundry room. Suddenly, they’re the weird neighbor. Although I suspect that if civilization actually collapsed, they’d become everyone’s best friend.
Of course, there’s the enthusiastic declaration that we should all buy American. I understand the sentiment. Supporting American businesses and workers is a wonderful thing. But let’s consider something most of us have within arm’s reach right now. Our smartphones. In fact, there’s a good chance you’re reading this on one. Whether you’re devoted to your iPhone or your Samsung, chances are your phone was manufactured overseas. And while we’re enthusiastic about buying American, I don’t see many of us volunteering to give up our smartphones. Apparently, our commitment to tradition has its limits, particularly when it interferes with texting, shopping, and watching cat videos.
And then there’s education. I went to college, and I’ve been fortunate enough to see my children have that opportunity as well. I want them to learn, explore, question things, and discover what they’re capable of doing. There is absolutely nothing wrong with working with your hands, learning a trade, farming, or digging ditches. Those are honorable jobs, and society depends on people willing to do them. But I want my children to have the opportunity to choose their own paths. We didn’t spend generations expanding access to education and opportunity because having fewer options was somehow better.
Speaking of opportunities, I remember buying the second house I ever owned. As I sat at the closing table reviewing the paperwork, I noticed that my name was followed by the words “single woman.” Curious, I asked whether the documents would say “single man” if I were a man buying the house. Everyone in the room went silent. No one answered my question. Ironically, I was also the only woman in the room. There I was, perfectly capable of purchasing a house on my own, surrounded by men who apparently couldn’t figure out how to answer a rather simple question. I still don’t know the answer, but I certainly remember the silence.
It’s a funny reminder of how much has changed for women, and how some old-fashioned assumptions have a remarkable ability to linger. I’m rather fond of being able to get an education, own property, run a business, and make decisions about my own life. I also enjoy having appliances that do some of the housework for me. I have absolutely no desire to spend my mornings washing clothes by hand and my afternoons preparing dinner so everyone else can enjoy a leisurely evening on the porch. I have things to do, and some of them are considerably more interesting than laundry.
None of this means there aren’t wonderful things worth preserving from the past. Family, community, good manners, helping your neighbors, and taking pride in your work are all traditions I can happily support. And I certainly wouldn’t object to bringing back a few old-fashioned courtesies. But we don’t have to resurrect an entire way of life to appreciate the parts of it that worked.
Perhaps that’s the funny thing about nostalgia. We remember the front porches, family dinners, and simpler pleasures. We conveniently forget the limitations, inconveniences, and opportunities that didn’t exist. We picture ourselves enjoying a peaceful summer evening on the porch, but somehow the picture always includes air conditioning waiting just inside. And apparently, dinner has already been cooked, the dishes are done, and someone else has taken care of everything.
Maybe we don’t really want to go back to the good old days. Maybe we just want to keep the good parts while enjoying everything we’ve gained along the way.
Personally, I think that’s a perfectly reasonable arrangement. I’ll happily preserve a little tradition, admire the great American wilderness, and appreciate the simpler pleasures in life.
From the comfort of the house I own as a single woman.
Sitting on my patio, browsing on my smartphone.
While someone else brings me a glass of wine.
🍷Charlotte