Be kind, rewind

A nostalgic reminder about patience, compassion, and small acts of thoughtfulness.

Do you remember VHS tapes?

The clunk of pushing the tape into the player. The fuzz and grain before the film began.

I still have a few from when I was a kid - Tina Turner concerts, tapes and tapes of Count Duckula, and those home-recorded ones off the telly. Usually with two and a half films on them (the half because you didn't want to waste the tape's full potential), a smudged handwritten label peeling at the edge: Liar Liar. Ghostbusters. Vertigo?

Having a movie night and going to the video store was my absolute favourite thing.

Mum would drive us down into town to the wonderland that was Blockbuster. I still remember the grey carpet, the vibrant blue of the signs, the rows and rows of films. You'd stroll down the aisles slowly, brushing your fingers across the empty video cases.

You took your time in the video store.

That's a bit of a lost art now.

Mum always let us choose two or three films, which meant the combination mattered enormously. There was real weight to the decision.

And on every tape, a little smiley-faced sticker:

"Be Kind, Rewind."

At the time, it meant one thing - don't be the person who forgets to rewind the tape. But looking back, I think it was about more than that. It was a quiet reminder to think of the next person. To do the small, thoughtful thing that makes someone else's day a little easier.

There was nothing worse than spending all that time choosing the right films, sliding the tape in, and realising the last person hadn't rewound it. Another small lesson in patience - pressing the rewind button, waiting through the squeal of the tape whizzing back to the beginning.

These days, there's no rewinding required. Just streaming, scrolling, moving on. But I miss the pause.

Be Kind, Rewind feels like a lesson we've quietly left behind. About patience. Presence. Small acts of consideration.

The world could use a few more rewinds.

Do you have a memory like this - a small ritual from childhood that held more meaning than you realised at the time? I'd genuinely love to hear.