I have the same taste in art as my 
four-year-old niece — I swear I’m 
not exaggerating. 
I love Disney movies, and 
their 
soundtracks, 
probably 
more than her. Hannah Montana 
(yes, Hannah, not Miley Cyrus) 
makes her way into my top five 
most listened to artists every 
Spotify Wrapped. I will defend 
Barbie movies until I die. Young 
adult books dominate 90% of my 
bookshelf. I frequently rewatch 
my favorite Disney Channel or 
Nickelodeon shows. My artistic 
preferences don’t exactly match 
that of a typical 20-year-old.
I struggle to grasp the concept 
of growing up. Not to sound like a 
millennial, but “adulting” is hard, 
and saying goodbye to childhood 
is even harder. I’m the youngest in 
my family, yet I’m the sentimental 
old fool whose conversations often 
begin with, “Remember when?” 
I’m like an overfilled balloon of 

nostalgia just waiting to burst. I’m 
not nostalgic for my childhood — a 
childhood plagued with divorce 
and financial insecurity — but 
rather the idea of childhood with its 
simplicity and innocence. Holding 
onto the past (however I choose 
to see it) makes life a little easier. 
I attach positive emotions to the 
idea of childhood, and in turn, the 
movies, music, books and TV shows 
I devoured as a child stay as fun and 
enjoyable as ever. They never grow 
old, unlike me. 
It’s hard to outgrow something 
you can always easily return to. 
With the growing popularity of 
streaming services, the movies 
and TV shows I consumed as a 
child are increasingly accessible 
and inescapable. That’s fine by me 
— movies and TV shows shaped 
my childhood. Saturday mornings 
were made for watching cartoons at 
my grandma’s house. Movie nights 
meant root beer floats. Quoting 
lines from movies and TV shows 
we watched as children is how my 
siblings and I communicate; our 
humor is permanently altered by 

“Shrek” and other fantastical (read: 
stupid) movies. 
The fact that the types of movies 
and TV shows I like to watch don’t 
reflect my age embarrasses me at 
times. I sometimes feel shame and 
guilt from liking things that are 
“just for kids.” But just because some 
movies and TV shows are made for 
children, doesn’t mean they can’t 
resonate with adults. I appreciate 
Pixar movies now more than I did 
as a child. I refuse to believe the Toy 
Story franchise and “Up” are “for 
kids only” because they make me 
sob more than they should. 
My favorite show of all time, 
“Avatar: 
The 
Last 
Airbender,” 
remains (unsurprisingly) relevant 
in today’s society. Aside from “Boy 
Meets World,” it’s one of the most 
thought-provoking children shows 
I’ve ever encountered and has one 
of the greatest character arcs of all 
time. So even the thought of one of 
my favorite movies or TV shows 
from childhood being “just for kids” 
hurts.

On my older sister’s bookshelf sit 
12 bright yellow hardcover editions 
of the Nancy Drew classic mysteries. 
Arranged in a neatly ordered row, 
dust has now likely had the chance 
to coat the spines and nestle in the 
upper lip between the cover and 
the pages, but there was a time 
when those books scarcely spent a 
second stuck on the shelf. They’d 
go directly out of my sister’s hands 
and into mine, where they’d remain 
indefinitely as I re-read them over 
and over, caught in an infinite loop 
awaiting a break sequence that 
would never arrive. A beloved token 
of my sister’s library and an artifact 
of my childhood, the pages are well-
worn from countless turns and 
creases, and I know each one of the 
mysteries they hold within by heart. 
Nancy Drew was always my 
sister’s “thing,” but like many of her 
lightly used possessions and the vast 
majority of her closet, her interests 
trickled down to me. I vainly 

thought of myself as the Ramona 
to her Beezus, and LeUyen Pham’s 
“Big Sister, Little Sister” was my 
gospel (something our well-loved 
copy at home covered in crayon 
scribbles and a binding hanging on 
for dear life can certainly attest to). 
As such, much of my early exposure 
to art was contingent on the things 
that my sister was into; half of the 
reason I consider myself to be an 
avid reader is the fact that I spent 
years trying to “catch up” to where 
she was, even though she was three 
years my elder. To some extent, I 
watched what she watched, read 
what she had read a couple years 
ago and wanted nothing more than 
to understand the art that she loved 
so dearly.
Over the years, we readily passed 
through various book phases, but 
Nancy Drew’s presence was a 
constant like no other. My sister’s 
Nancy Drew collection grew to 
encompass vintage book sale finds 
and dozens of paperbacks from the 
’80s and ’90s passed down from our 
aunt. Aside from the books, we’d 
also watch the 2007 film adaptation 

starring Emma Roberts (“Scream 
Queens”) religiously and tune in 
for weekly reruns of “The Hardy 
Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries.” I 
still reminisce about those lazy 
Sunday evenings, curled up on the 
couch as we listened to the opening 
notes of the show’s theme song and 
waited for the omniscient narrator 
to announce which mystery we’d 
be viewing that night. We liked 
Nancy’s standalone episodes best 
and begrudgingly sat through the 
Hardy Boys ones, but the crossover 
specials that occurred once or twice 
a season were simply unmatched. 
Suffice to say, Nancy Drew 
left a ubiquitous imprint on my 
childhood. 
Each 
adaptation’s 
interpretation 
of 
her 
blends 
seamlessly into the other; when I 
think of her, an amalgamated vision 
of the classic ’30s illustrations, 
Roberts’s perfectly put-together 
plaid ensembles and Pamela Sue 
Martin’s (“Dynasty”) smartly chic 
and pragmatic ’70s jumpsuits and 
blazers all come to mind at once.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts

On Nancy Drew, Scooby-Doo and 
the mysteries of childhood

SERENA IRANI
Daily Arts Writer

We all had to start somewhere 
as people. And lately, I have been 
realizing more and more how 

much our selves emerge from 
what we immerse ourselves in. 
For many of us in this section, 
including myself, that was art, in 
several different forms, dating 
back to our childhood. It taught 
us about the world as it was, the 

world as it could be, the world as it 
would never be, though it was still 
fun to consider. It showed us the 
space outside ourselves, and how 
we fit into it. Art taught us about 
those we love and about what we 
wanted; it asked us to be honest 

and gave us the curiosity to look 
for a greater understanding of 
ourselves. Childhood art is often 
dismissed, rarely getting the 
credit it deserves for being the 
first art we connect with. It’s the 
thing that, through patience from 

the creators and natural empathy 
from the children absorbing the 
work, taught us that our presence 
and soul are not only contained 
in our bodies but can be shared 
with others. In editing all these 
writers’ pieces, I saw firsthand 

all the different experiences and 
stories they had to tell, but also 
felt the same thread of connection 
to and core understanding of each 
one. If you read on, I’m sure you’ll 
feel the same. Introducing: the 
Childhood B-Side.

The B-Side: Childhood

Wednesday, December 7, 2022 — 5

Design by Iris Ding

Me and my childlike artistic 
preferences

AVA SEAMAN
Daily Arts Writer

Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com

ROSA SOFIA KAMINSKI
Senior Arts Editor