Performed at Fourteen East Live 2026, "Nosalgia".
Reflecting on the past is like walking through a flea market, where the aisle of your memory is lined with tables bursting with childhood treasures and nose-tingling delicacies bought with a token of nostalgia.
That was probably dramatic, so let me start from the beginning. The annual Wolff’s Flea Market was a staple not only within my household, but also my entire family. Every Sunday, we would venture to Rosemont right at 7 a.m., when the sun was freshly peeking out from the clouds, along with the chilly night breeze.
My mom would come into my room, shaking me gently to wake me up. I would put on my nicest clothes (according to 6-year-old me and my mom), which was a Disney Princess shirt with the brightest hottest pink shorts you could imagine. Then we’d hop in my dad’s black Suburban, where I was half the size of the seat.
The radio would blast songs we often heard echoing throughout the house: “Beautiful Day” by U2, “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga, “When You Were Young” by The Killers, “Firework” by Katy Perry and so many more. My dad’s selection was always rock or rap. My mom’s was always “what the kids want,” which, for me, was anything Katy Perry. For my brother, he liked basically anything me and my mom listened to, but also Eminem, who he thought was insanely cool.
Once we got off the highway, our first immediate pit stop was McDonald’s. This was routine and mandatory. We’d each get the same thing too: A bacon egg and cheese biscuit meal with a hashbrown and orange juice (of course, the adults got sodas, which fascinated my brother and I, as kids aren’t allowed to drink it). And because we valued safety, we always ate in the parking lot. As we ate our McDonald’s, we’d talk about what we were excited to eat, look for and who we would see at the flea market.
After eating, we finally pulled into the Allstate Arena, parking miles away at the nearest open spot. Then I’d jump down from the height of the Suburban, officially beginning our journey into the flea market. Being six years old, and my brother four, we were free, which is probably why my parents visited so frequently. It’s crazy to think that the first vendor I saw at my young age was an Asian family that had cardboard boxes full of straw hats, parasols, hand fans and other random household goods that would still be there today, 15 years later.
From there, we would snake through each aisle of diverse vendors, stopping at tables covered in either toys or tools (as those were my dad’s favorite). My favorite items were Barbie dolls, My Little Pony toys or nail polish (you know, the typical girly branding of the 2010s). The bright colors of the tiny clothing, doll voice boxes and cherry-scented nail polish would often garner my attention.
My brother was obsessed with Hot Wheels and it didn’t help that some vendors had tables full of hundreds of cars. My dad’s closest friend used to have his own table, or if he didn’t, he would help out others who also sold Hot Wheels. He practically knew everyone in that Hot Wheels enthusiast community, so he always got the best treatment, which led to him having an entire plastic tote full of cars.
Being a kid meant being excited at every table glittering with different toys of interest, jumping up and down as we tugged at our mom’s shirt, begging for her to buy us everything. After snaking through aisles, with the smell of cherry danishes, metal tools and the guy who would play classic rock on his guitar, we arrived at the doors of Allstate Arena, which signaled a bathroom break.
After the bathroom, we would then get a sweet treat, which came from the ice cream truck parked right next to the entrance. My brother and I would get the same thing every week: a cherry Screwball. You don’t realize how amazing it was: a cherry snow cone you dig through with a wooden scoop until you reach the bottom, where two gumballs were! And yes, we chose this above the SpongeBob popsicle, Push Pops and Choco Tacos.
This gave us energy until the final aisle, before the tables began running along the left side of Allstate Arena and we would turn back to go home. My mom and dad carried the bags of all the things we bought that day: tools, dolls, Hot Wheels and mom’s items.
On some visits, we would run into relatives, who we’d hug tightly and show our toys to. I remember seeing my dad’s closest uncle, who owned a flatbed pickup truck we would play in and help with taxes. Sometimes we would see my other aunt and uncle, who hosted family gatherings every Saturday night, where the adults would play poker and the kids played in the backyard. Seeing them was an exciting addition to the weekly visit.
We were also familiar with the vendors, though not close like with my dad’s friend and the rest of the Hot Wheels community. With them, we would talk extensively about the history and different models of the cars, while also snagging some for free. This mostly excited my brother, though.
At about 10 a.m., we would be heading back home and continuing with our usual day-to-day lives, which were solely for playing outside or learning the alphabet (miss those kindergarten days).
Of course, as a kid, you don’t realize how cool and special these moments are with family. This was a very simple summary of the routine my family had on Sundays to the flea market. When I visited on the 26th, which would be about my 15th or 16th year of going, I was reminded of those times when I was six, visiting for toys. Now I buy books, crocheted plushes, bracelets or bags. But I still walk past those tables with Barbie dolls in the large pink tutus that I would have loved to play with all those years ago.
So, if you really think about it, memories are like a sort of flea market, where all good things are bought with a token of nostalgia. Thank you, mom and dad, for allowing me to build these core memories from my childhood and your generosity to indulge my childish interests (though, that’s in the job description of being a parent). Thank you to my brother for being my partner in this journey, as I can’t imagine how much fun I would’ve had by myself. These are the moments that will remain close to my heart forever, returning me to a time of endless happiness, innocence and love, all purchased with a token of nostalgia.
Header Image by Damaris Rodriguez
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