The Wonder Years: My Childhood Saturdays
Saturday mornings were a treasure in my childhood. They were second only to Sunday mornings, which always began with the smell of my mom’s pancakes (and to this day, I’ll argue she makes the best pancakes in the world). While Sundays fed my stomach, Saturdays fed my imagination.
I’d wake up early, eyes bright, because Saturday was “cartoon day.” Back then, television had a rhythm of its own — programming didn’t run 24/7. You had to wait for the station to come alive, and I knew that once Saturday morning rolled around, the screen would burst into the magical world of animation.
I loved them all — the colorful characters, the zany plots, the laughter they sparked. Later, there was even a show called Club Kiboko, hosted by children for children. I’ll never forget the day one of the hosts was named Yvonne — just like me. In that moment, a seed was planted: one day, I’ll be on TV too.
I was utterly fascinated. I believed that the people on television must be special, different, maybe even superhuman. (Surely, I thought, they didn’t do ordinary things like go to the toilet, ha-ha!) That amazement shaped my curiosity and lit a spark in me. I wanted to know how things worked, how people got there, what made someone important enough to be on TV. That spark grew into a thirst for knowledge that, to this day, still surprises my friends and family.
Cartoons in Adulthood: A Warm Return Home
As an adult, cartoons stopped being just something I watched — they became a bridge back to home. When my son and I shared Saturday mornings, or when we squeeze in an anime together between our busy lives, that warm, familiar feeling returns: the soft hush of comfort, the wide-eyed wonder that notices colour and music in the smallest things.
Animation refills something in me. It reminds me of the innocence that sees beauty everywhere and of the musical heartbeat I carry through life — I’m often humming a tune in my head, and if it were socially acceptable, I’d probably burst into song at random, just like in a musical. That buoyant, melodic part of me makes life feel brighter. It softens the sharp edges of adulthood and makes challenges feel more like scenes in a story worth showing up for.
In my work — where I’m constantly balancing the creative and the critical — that inner-child space is fuel. It loosens my thinking, invites play, and, truth be told, shoos the fear away when I face something daunting (a psychologist would probably nod and call it adaptive, ha-ha). Rather than seeing obstacles as immovable, the childlike part of me helps me imagine possibilities, improvise, and keep choosing joy even when things are demanding.
Healing and Fulfilment: Raising My Inner Child
I wouldn’t claim to be the authority on why staying connected to our inner child is important — but I’ve read enough, and lived enough, to know it matters. Therapists often reach back into people’s childhoods to explain adult behaviour, and that made me realize something: if I can understand and nurture what my inner child longs for, then I stand a better chance at living a happier, more fulfilled adulthood.
When I became a mother, my son’s endless questions forced me to examine myself in ways I never had before. “Why do you do it that way, Mum?” Suddenly, I had to make sense of my choices, not just for myself, but in a way I could explain to him. That process stretched me, but it also healed me. In raising a good son, I found myself raising the younger me too.
Cartoons became a surprising sanctuary in that journey. At the time, I didn’t grasp the depth of it — how those playful hours were also nourishing parts of me I had left unattended. However, looking back, I see how they gave me lightness when life felt heavy. They reminded me that reconnecting with the child within isn’t indulgent — it’s essential.
I’ve come to believe that the longings we carry as adults often trace back to how our inner child interpreted the world. And so, making space to sit with that child — to laugh, to heal, to unlearn, to play — has been transformative. It has reshaped the way I relate to myself and deepened the way I connect with those who care about me. Reconnection, I’ve learned, makes life not just easier to navigate, but far more colorful along the way. This sips into my work too and those with whom I have had the privilege to work with on numerous projects would attest to my infusion of playfulness to soften what sometimes seems a demanding and stressful part of sports management.
Little Joys, Lasting Balance: Making Space for Play
With my work travels slowing down, I’ve been spending more time at home than I ever did in my first years abroad. The stillness gave me space to rediscover an old love: gardening. Flowers were a language between my late father and I. He adored them, and I grew up surrounded by their colour and fragrance. Every other week, we’d pick flowers from the yard, arranging them in vases that made our living room brighter. My favourite were the wild roses he planted right outside my bedroom window — a daily reminder, quite literally, to wake up and smell the roses.
This year, on the fourth anniversary of his passing, I honoured him by filling my apartment with plants and flowers. Eight months later, I still find myself fascinated by every new branch that unfolds. In tending to them, I realise that both the child in me and the adult in me are deeply satisfied by these small, life-giving cycles.
There’s the lighter side of my inner child: I happily indulge my Disney+ subscription and rewatch the classics, often curled up in a blanket with a smile on my face and my vocals ready to sing along. Add to that my love for superhero movies — yes, I am unapologetically a Marvel fan who rewatches favorite titles — and you’ll see that I don’t hold back from making “little Yvonne” happy. In turn, that joy keeps “adult Yvonne” balanced, creative, and resilient.
Closing: Honour the Child Within
Life will always bring responsibility, deadlines, and challenges that test us. However, in the midst of all that, there’s a younger version of you who still remembers wonder, laughter, and colour. Nurturing that child doesn’t make you less of an adult — it makes you a fuller one.
So whether it’s gardening, cartoons, music, or Marvel marathons, I hope you’ll choose to honour your inner child. Because when they are happy, fulfilled, and seen, you’ll find that the adult version of you feels the same way too.
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