Life is funny David had mentioned last weekend we might be able to go see Charlie on Wednesday. I was so excited and even though David didn’t want Charlie to know I told Charlie because I’m not able to keep a secret. I also needed to see if Charlie wanted me to bring anything which he did.
Once we got to Hobart, Oklahoma after visiting Charlie and Mikalyia we ventured into Walmart and then over to Dollar Tree. I need to let you know there are moments that don’t announce themselves as anything important while they’re happening, yet somehow, they end up sitting in our memory like they were always meant to stay there.
A recent trip through Hobart, Oklahoma turned into one of those unexpected pockets of joy. Charlie, Mikalyia, David and I took a simple walk through a store filled with everyday items became something much stronger around the edges once old memories started resurfacing.
In the toy sections of Walmart, nostalgia has a way of sneaking up quietly. A wrestling ring toy tied to the “Money in the Bank” tradition from WWE Money in the Bank sparked immediate recognition, the kind that doesn’t come from just seeing a product, but from remembering an entire childhood built around it. That same feeling followed right behind the sight of a familiar racing truck tied to Lightning McQueen, the kind of toy that once felt larger than life, and still somehow manages to pull that same joy.
Even the mention of Tow Mater carried its own memories, like a reminder that certain stories never really leave us—they just wait for the right moment to reappear in a different aisle, under different fluorescent lights, with older hands reaching for them now.
Later, at Dollar Tree, the mood didn’t slow down. It shifted into something lighter, almost like laughter had decided to take over the shopping cart. A wrestling ring set tied again to WWE nostalgia caught Charlie and my attention first, followed quickly by playful first-aid finds themed with Monster Jam designs, where even the sight of a familiar truck like “Grave Digger” carried the same kind of childhood energy that refuses to grow up quietly. Monster Jam has always had that effect—big, loud, impossible-to-ignore fun that somehow still translates years later into a smile in an aisle.
What made the day feel different wasn’t the items themselves, but the way they pulled conversation out of the past and placed it right into the present. Childhood didn’t feel like something far behind anymore. It felt like something that could still be spoken about in real time, joked about in passing, and shared between adult responsibilities like it still belonged at the table.
Later, messages kept coming, carrying that same tone of excitement that had filled the store earlier. Talk of moving, of staying closer, of reshaping routines just to keep the day’s energy from fading too quickly. Not because anything needed to change, but because sometimes connection feels so easy in a moment that it makes the rest of life feel like it’s sitting too far away.
And long after the shopping bags were set down, what lingered wasn’t what was bought or left behind, but the laughter that refused to stay in one place. The kind that shows up without warning, stays longer than expected, and quietly reminds you that some bonds don’t age—they just change the way they sound in a store aisle at midnight, or in a text message that arrives with too many “mom”s to count.
I must tell you Davied and Mikayla must have thought Charlie and I were crazy yelling in between aisles and laughing so loud people were stopping to look at us. It was okay though because those memories will be able to help me through Charlie being there and me being here and until I can see my son again.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
