For the Love of Cassette Tapes and VHS Tapes
One of my earliest memories was plugging VHS tapes into my mom’s old gray Toshiba TV– the remote long lost. I only had three tapes, but 5-year-old me did not mind watching The Aristocats, Cinderella, and 101 Dalmatians on repeat to the point where I could say the lines in sync with the characters. I believe during my VHS obsession was the first time I consciously remembered my 9-year-old aunt came back from Haiti and caught me in the act of watching the same Disney films over and over and teased me about the obsession. (I remember the day my 9-year-old aunt came back from Haiti and caught me, once again, glued to the TV, teasing me about my obsession with the same three Disney films.)
My mother's black laptop came next– a relic which had a removable battery at the bottom and a DVD drive that I would abuse daily. I worked my way through every title from the DVD rack, watching whatever title caught my eye. The go-tos were either Barbie Fairytopia or Betty Boop Cartoon Classics.
Dusty DVD’s and bookshelves | Photo by Elisa Francois
Once the laptop gave out, I transitioned to my uncle's PS3, which was shared with me and my aunt. We would take trips to GameStop to collect the physical games and head back home to play them for hours on end. They loved to play Call of Duty, and I never stood a chance, especially with the chaotic three-way split screen. Frustrated, I would quit and wait for them to head out to play basketball at the park so I could have the TV to myself again, diving into the DVD rack once more. Being able to browse through the special features, like the extended cuts, behind-the-scenes, and cast and crew interviews was a simple pleasure of mine.
Cassette Tapes, Vintage clock, PS3 set, and Vintage Briefcase | Photo by Elissa Francois
On quieter days, my grandfather would listen to cassette tapes in his native language every morning, the grainy voices filling the room like distant echoes. I knew little to nothing of what they were saying, but I knew he was listening to the same ones every other day, which did not irk me but left me bewildered. Those moments were his days off from a farm. He’d come home with a plastic bag of green beans for me to trim, rewarding me afterward with a stalk of sugarcane. I was always joyously up to the task.
Back then, everything felt magical. My smaller, more innocent face was tantalized by the world around me, when the prospect of seeing Santa Claus, getting whisked away by Peter Pan, or solving my hometown's mysteries was something that could be. Now, with my 20s near, that kind of warm, whimsical outlook I had at the age of 5 and 10, is gone. I don’t play with dolls anymore, nor do I talk to neighbors. The VHSs and the Toshiba TV have been thrown out. Half of the DVDs are scratched up, and why go through the trouble when you have streaming services and pirating websites? Who has a laptop with an optical disc drive anymore?
There's no more sugarcane. Everythings changed. My grandpa has left behind the cassettes and all I could do is glide fingers across the dusty edges, hoping to be blasted back to that moment in time.
Strike Out,
Elissa Francois
Editor: Carla Mendez
Francois is a first-year student at Florida International University, majoring in PRAAC. She takes a grave interest in other people and how their past informs their current actions. She is also a passionate lover of multiple art forms and has had an appreciation for storytelling since she first read The Very Hungry Caterpillar at 6 years old. This has led her down a path of desire to tell her own stories with dreams of being a well-regarded author. She aims to compose resonant experiences that are not just her own, but others as well.
