Memories

Think about your life as if you were writing your autobiography.

I visualize myself sitting in front of an old black typewriter – solid and steel – so used and worn that the letters are almost unrecognizable. To my right, the wind quietly whistles through a cracked window while the over-cast clouds race each other east and out of sight.

I close my eyes, lean backwards in the chair and begin to explore the depths of my unconscious in an attempt to recall its earliest memories. As the front legs of the chair lift from the hard wood floors, I reach forward with one hand and balance my teeter tottering position. Smugly I grin and think of how disapproving my mother would be of my posture. Just then it hits me and the light bulb in my head shatters. Shifting my weight forward, the front legs of the chair come crashing down to the floor. I stretch my arms far behind my head and slide my fingers together like a puzzle until they reach the palms, flip over and crack. “I’ve got it!”

December 18th, 1982 – I was born.

I don’t remember much of that day. It was dark, wet, and hot. There was a lot of screaming, rubber gloves, bright lights, and…who am I kidding, I have no recollection of that day. To be 100% honest, I don’t really remember much of anything until I was four. But there is one memory I have vaulted deep in my hippocampus (Wikipedia it…I had to). As events, people, and experiences have entered an exited my life and mind, this very first memory hasn’t really faded.

If someone were to ask you, What’s your very first memory? Would you be able to provide an answer? It’s tougher than it sounds, isn’t it? If you’re like me, you probably question some so of your very own thoughts: Was that a memory or a dream? Did that really happen or am I creating it. Is this a story I fashioned based on a picture I once saw? When I rack my brain and search for the real thing, I always come back to this same broken film strip of images, sounds, and smells. It’s as if I’m sitting in a movie theater where only five to ten second long clips are playing. In between the snapshots are long periods of blank muted screen where I have to use my imagination to fill in the rest of the plot.

I was three years old and my grandpa took me ice skating at the public rink in River Rouge, Michigan. I can still close my eyes and see the large stain glass windows and the orange and brown painted stripes racing down the walls. I vaguely remember the smell of the now demolished building; a mix of concession popcorn, old rubber mats, and hockey sweat. More notably however, I remember pain in my feet, wanting it to stop, wanting to not skate anymore. And that’s about it. The rest of that story is filled in by my imagination. And what’s worse, I can’t remember anything else until my 5th birthday. Where did my life from 0-3 and 3-5 go? Is it gone forever? Do I get all those memories back when I’m 95 and on my death bed? Doubtful, but I sure hope so.

Hollogram When I have kids I’m going to buy an awesome digital video camera and an external drive with a couple hundred terabytes of storage space. Just because their young minds don’t have the ability to store and recall early events, that doesn’t mean I can’t save them for them. What a great wedding gift idea for my future son (or daughter). “Son, here is a flash drive with your entire childhood on it…have fun.” With my luck, technology will be far past watching movies on a computer or TV screen. Little Johnny would probably reply with, “Thanks Dad! I’ll have these converted to quantum-dimensional hologram clips where I can interact with myself as a young boy.” Is it weird that I can already envision the tone of my smart-ass, yet to be born child?