Speaking of nostalgia, here's a story about my dad.
My dad and I were hanging out one summer day, running some errands in town. I was about 8 years old, maybe 9, which would have put him in his late 30s/early 40s. We stopped at a gas station to fill up the truck, and he returned with two bottles of root beer and two small bags of peanuts.
"Here, let me show you something," he said, and he dumped his pack of peanuts into his bottle of root beer. Then after the fizzing had calmed down, he took a long drink from the bottle, making sure to get some of the salted peanuts along with it. "Ah, that takes me back," he said, chewing the peanuts. "Give it a try!"
I took a sip of the half-flat/half-fizzy, half-sweet/half-salty, half-liquid/half-solid concoction and grimaced. "Oh," I flinched and shook my head. "I don't like it very much."
"Ah well," he said, and took his bottle back. "I like it. It was my favorite when I was your age."
"I like the sweet peanuts but not the salty root beer," I told him.
"Well I'm glad you tried it at least." He took another drink/bite. "That means you learned something about yourself. Most people are afraid to do even that little."