Memories

and the games they play

Bridgette talked about memories a bit, and the story of her husband fabricating a detailed memory out of thin air.

So for a quick laugh, I’ll tell a Bridgette memory story. She had dated a jerk for a while, like maybe 7 years? She lived at the coast and I lived in the mountains, and we both had busy jobs and lives, so we didn’t get to see each other often. Anyway, every time we made plans to get together, this jerk would tell her “oh, babe, I had a surprise trip planned for us that weekend!” And he would convince her to go with him, and managed to keep us apart. Hindsight is so clear. I’m so glad she finally dumped him. I love the man she ended up with.

Sorry, got distracted. The memory story – She and the jerk went to Disney World. She mentioned it a previous post. After they broke up, she started doing stuff that people do after a break up – cutting him out of pictures, and stuff like that. Well, apparently, she also mentally cut him out of “pictures.” One day she started talking about when we (as in Bridgette and JoAnne) went to Disney World. I was confused, as I had never been there. I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that. After some “discussing,” we finally realized that she had replaced him in some of her memories with me – someone that she loves and would have rather been doing things with. It was actually very flattering.

I did eventually make it to Disney, with my Girl Scouts.

My memory is bad. I have surprisingly few memories of my childhood. All of my siblings tell such interesting, rich stories, and I barely remember any, just bits and pieces.

I realized a few years ago that almost all of my memories revolve around my father. This dismayed me, because honestly, he wasn’t much of a father. He worked hard and brought home money to support his family. But he wasn’t a loving, involved father.

My mother was (still is) everything to me. I used to hang on her leg, and make up songs about how much I loved her. She was always there, doing whatever was needed for us kids, and I always felt safe and loved.

So why are so many of my memories about Dad? Why aren’t they of Mom, who was the pillar of my childhood? I finally realized this is exactly the reason – Dad was so rarely involved with us that when he DID take the time to do something with us, it made an impression – it was rare, it was different. And because Dad was more into big, out of the ordinary stuff rather than everyday life, I’m sure that influenced my memories as well.

Dad’s holding me!

I remember him helping me learn to ride my bike without training wheels. And when the whole family went to see a movie (The Love Bug) and he and I sat together eating a whole box of Reese’s Mini PB Cups. I remember going to a Miami Dolphins football game, and watching Flipper swim around in the pool in the end zone.

It was a month before my 7th birthday when we moved from Hialeah FL, to Boone NC. And while I do have more memories of my life in Boone, they are still woefully inadequate when compared to my sister, Desna. She has a memory like a steel trap.

Sometimes, it bothers me that I remember so little about growing up. I guess I’m never going to write a great story of my life, because I don’t remember much of it. (I could probably pull out a few short stories, though.) But over all, my life has been good, and my lack of memories hasn’t hurt or hindered me in any way. Or at least, if it has, I don’t remember it.

Published by JoAnne

Homebody extraordinaire

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