Talk during a recent dinner with old friends:
“So, I was at my high school reunion last year and, when everyone started telling old stories, all I could do was nod and go uh huh, uh huh, ‘cause I didn’t remember a thing.”
“Well, I can’t remember my phone number from day to day. Too many numbers in my life.”
“Yeah, me either. And how about all the times you run upstairs, only to forget what you’re going for, and have to go all the way back downstairs to remember?”
“Or when you forget someone’s name? And they lived next door to you for 8 years, and you played bridge with them every Thursday. That happened to me last week.”
OK, you get the point. Seems like us 50/60 somethings are losing it. Or maybe there’s just too much in our brains, and we have to filter out the unimportant stuff. I’m hoping for that. But why do we remember some things and not others? Like, why do I still remember the ugly lily corsage my date gave me for my first prom, but not his name? And why can I pull up the author of just about any book I’ve read, but not my phone number? Really, why can’t we control our memories better?
We parents try so hard to give our children rich, happy, memorable childhoods, but we can never predict, or assure, or assume what it is their minds will choose to keep, and what will be forgotten.
Will they remember the trip to New York City, and visiting the Metropolitan Museum? Or will they remember taking the train down, and the cool little seatback tray their lunchbox sat on?
Will they remember the extravagant Christmas with presents flowing from under the tree all the way across the room? Or will they remember that their cousin ate too many truffles and threw up all over Grandma’s damask tablecloth?
You and your children are creating memories every day, although maybe not the ones you yourself are hoping for. Their memories will be shaped by serendipity, and happenstance, and their own particular brains; by point of view and place in the family and life experience. And, in the end, they will build a past based on whatever they themselves remember. And the life you live with them every day will, in large part, inform those memories.
So, they may not remember the handknit sweater you slaved over for 4 months, or the adorable teddy bear cake you made for their 6th birthday, but they will remember that they felt safe, and warm, and cosseted. That you were on their side. That they could talk to you, and trust you and laugh with you, and sing with you. They will remember that they were loved. And some day the memory of the childhood you are building together will inform your childrens’ own parenting. And you will get to watch it all unfold from the sidelines of grandparenthood. And those are wonderful memories!
My memory now is quirky and totally unpredictable. I’ve learned to keep an address book with me at all times because sometimes I need to look up my own phone number (I’m pretty sure it’s not Alzheimer’s….). But I will always remember the love my parents gave me. And that I gave my children. And that they give me. So who cares if our stories are differentt?
Read More in GG Writes, three kids
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We talk about this all the time, we do. But it’s lovely reading it in a more “formal” context. I know in 20 years B probably won’t remember the fabulous cupcakes I made for his party this past weekend, but I will remember making them. For him. And we both will remember some part of his turning 6. And that is family. Perfect.