| 12/20/2005 |
I WILL REMEMBER YOU
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Mike and I had an interesting conversation over the weekend about things we remember from our childhoods. Or more correctly put... Things we think we remember remembering.
How trustworthy is a person's memory? Not in an aged/forgetful way. Yet as time goes on, some things take more effort to remember. Your fifth birthday isn't quite as clear as it might have been. Your first day of school might not be as traumatic as you thought it was. Does it matter that you don't remember exactly the last moment you spent with a loved one? Could you write down all the addresses you've lived at? Would you rather forget a specific part of your life if you could?
I've always had a vivid imagination. When I was a young child of five or six, I can remember lying on the kitchen counters and staring at the ceiling. It would upset my Grandmother who 1) thought I was going to roll off and crack open my skull 2) I was on the counter top, where food was placed.
Yet, I would stare at this one particular spot on the ceiling. It sounds a little autistic. Yet I assure you I'm not. I would stare at these two faces in the swirls of paint on the ceiling. My Grandparents and I went to church regularly when I was a child, and I remember thinking that it was the faces of Jesus and Mary. (Joseph didn't make the cut. Sorry, Joe.) I remember feeling like that was how Jesus was keeping a watchful eye on me.
Now at 31 I can't find that face in the ceiling anymore. The ceiling has never been repainted that I can recall. I know the area where it was. Yet, I don't see it there anymore.
A few years back, my Grandmother and I had a conversation where she said that I used to talk about seeing ghosts. Not in a spooky "I'm scared" way. She says I would talk to ghosts. I don't remember doing that. I know I had imaginary friends (siblings, more correctly) when I was a little kid. I explained this to her, asking if that was what she was talking about. She claims it isn't. She said she knew I had imaginary siblings, but that she was referring to something else. Yet, her memory of the time has faded. All she recall is my claims at the time it happened.
Memory is a funny thing. It's crazy what details I can remember about such mundane activities. There is no reason why I need to remember sneaking on to the construction site of the Mexican restaurant by my Grandparents house. Yet I remember playing in there with my friends, as if it was our own personal club house.
I like sitting around and remembering things like that. It makes me feel like the time I spent so far was spent well, because it was worth remembering. |
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I posted this @ 12/20/2005 08:22:00 AM.............Need a link?..........
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