I have a horrible memory. It doesn’t matter if I try to remember events from my childhood, or high school, even college or two weeks ago. What I think I remember may not be an actual memory. I might be remembering family stories or making up my own from old photos.
When I was very young, our family would vacation in the Smokies in a little A-frame cabin near Townsend. I want to say I remember that. The musty smells, the soft clay slit of the river bank, the fireflies at night. But I can’t be sure it’s not just a created memory from looking through old albums.
I do have many fond memories of the cars in my life. From my Dad’s Corvair, to the family Pontiac, to my ’67 Mustang (my first car), to the ’74 Charger SE The Mister had when we started dating (bench front seat – ’nuff said.) I think I will also remember the first cars both of the children had too. The College Kid was given a ’03 Dodge Neon 5-speed for her 16th birthday, and The Boy got a ’90 Plymouth Laser RS as his first project car.
It bothers me that there are huge gaps in my memory, but it’s nothing new.
One of The Mister’s co-worker and his wife recently moved, and we helped him with a couple of garage sales. The Mister mentioned CW’s pet bird, a big exotic thing like a macaw or parrot. I didn’t know he had a bird… but I should have.
When this guy first moved to the area, he stayed with us for about a week. Not only did I not remember the bird he had with him, I didn’t remember that he was a house guest for seven days. Nothing, nada, zilch.
I have vague memories of little things from my first pregnancy, like what I was doing when I first felt The College Kid kick, but I’m sorry to say I can’t say the same about The Boy. (I was watching a Lady Vols basketball game on TV, lying on the couch rubbing my buddha belly lamenting “that at 17 weeks I should have felt her kick by now.”)
Granted, parents do tend to be less vigilant with their second child, but there are milestones I don’t remember about either of my kids, but especially my youngest. (I do remember that The Boy took his first steps on Father’s Day when he was about a year old.)
If only there were blogs back in the day. Parents today can record everything. They can keep photos and videos along with written accounts of all those childhood landmarks in one, archived, easy to access, location. Baby albums and scrapbooks just can’t record everything like an online journal can.
I started my first blog in 2007. My kids were 14 and 18, well beyond that cute toddler stage, but still of an age that I can enjoy going back through my old posts to read their stories.
In those five years, they both earned their high school diplomas, one graduated college and started grad school. One overcame some serious hurdles and is making his way toward independence and adulthood. They accomplished so many amazing things, and their futures are wide open in front of them. If one day I can’t remember these stories, then I can at least read about them again.
Still… I do wish I remembered more about their early years. I have a ton of photos, so I can look back and hopefully have my brain jump started. It’s just not the same though, and it makes me very sad.