Follow this authorTheodore R. Johnson's opinions

I told my son that no introduction to the music he calls “old school” was needed. And enthusiastically shared the story of the high school cookout and my polyester tracksuit. Then I remembered there was video. After a brief hunt for the old cassette, grainy footage of the cookout brightened the screen. And there’s a bird-chested teen in purple — serenading the lens. My whole family had a good laugh at the outfit and the singing, loud and off-key. It was cool seeing that guy again.

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Photos, but no videos, document my parents as teens. In their bump years, home movies were luxuries far beyond the household budget. But I have seen them as teenagers, many times — most memorably on those Saturday mornings when I’d wake up to ’70s soul records blaring and the smell of vacuum cleaner in the air. There was no camera to catch them in those particular moments, dancing and singing. But I have snapshots of them, memories in mind and a soundtrack alongside.

Over time, as their careers progressed, home videos came within reach. So I get to experience my reminiscence bump in flashes on-screen. There, I’m a teen again, listening to the Isley Brothers while my parents ask me how I know that song — the one they’ve known twice as long as they’ve known me. Now, every day is a movie. We carry video cameras in our pockets, with seemingly infinite storage to record each moment. But some things can’t be captured by technology. Like when you catch your parents’ youth again.

I recently went back to my alma mater for a basketball game, the first time I’d been on campus in two decades. A gift from my sons. I showed them around the place, the spots for learning and those where we hung out. Told some stories and replayed lots of memories, feeling back in the........

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