I remember strange details about events that other
folks tend to forget. I’m not sure how
it works – how I can so deeply process certain things; but sights, sounds,
smells, and songs (DEFINITELY songs), can all play a big part in triggering a
memory for me. Sometimes I reference a certain event by what I was wearing, and
yes, even by what I weighed. (For example, my thinner years: 1977-81, 1983-84,
1989-90, 1997-1999, 2011-12, and so on.)
My family has learned not to even attempt correction of my details. We’ve placed
a few bets, and enjoyed some hearty laughs when they dare say, “Oh that’s
right, Mom, you remember because it was winter and you were driving in the blue
car while wearing your red Badger t-shirt, with the picture of Bucky on the
front???” Yes, that’s precisely how I
remember, thank you very much…!)
I suggest that if they don’t think I’m right, feel
free to check a calendar J
(They don’t check…)
But seriously, I’ve found that my ‘good memory’ is
both a blessing and a curse
As for the blessing - my recollections provide me
with beautiful memories of dear family times - talking and laughing with my
mom, vacations, graduations and weddings. My memory provides me with thoughts
of people long in my past, picnics by lakes, school dances, nights at the
symphony, amusement parks and festivals. I remember a boy who rode his bike to
my house, and sweet letters of love. I remember conversations of deep importance
and conversations of sheer ridiculousness (which is why we so often laugh). My
memory served me well in the writing of my book… the days of the week on which
my children were born, how it felt to be a mom, and the emotions (positive and
negative) that I’ve experienced surrounding all of it.
This blows people’s minds, by the way – it really
does. “How can you remember ALL of that?” they often ask. I believe that the
majority of folks can barely remember what they ate for breakfast, much less
what they did in June of 1977, am I right? But for some reason, I remember. The
fact that I kept a journal (which has long since been destroyed) helped. But
what I found funny about those early journals was that I often wrote things
like: “Dear Journal: We had so much fun tonight – I’ll write more later.” But
then I didn’t write more later. Go figure…
The few friends that I still have from long-ago high
school days, know this about me and appreciate how my head operates. I’ve
become something of the group ‘historian.’ “Katie, do you remember when we went
(Fill in the blank here - camping, to the Brewers game, shopping,
whatever) and then we …?” and I answer, “Yep,
I remember it – what do you want to know?”
For many of these exact same reasons I find having this
good memory a curse. If I’m being honest, not all family times were pleasant or produced good conversations or
laughs. Not all vacations were a blazing success. People want to ‘move on, and move
forward,’ so remembering sweet old friends can be bittersweet indeed. Sometimes
it’s painful to remember ‘the good ole days,’ especially if I’m the only one who remembers. I find that men,
specifically, (even Todd - unless it’s
about cars, boats, trains, you get the picture) have terrible memories. My dad
is the exception to this. He’s the same way as me, which is probably where I
get this attribute from. Sometimes
people like to keep their past in the past, and don’t like to be reminded of previous
blights, blunders, OR even past bliss, for that matter. Not everyone finds it
fun or enlightening. Sometimes it hurts when I remember something meaningful that
I found great joy or deep sadness in, but the other person doesn’t remember it
at all. It almost makes me feel like it never happened – like it was a dream or
something… which of course it wasn’t.
But having this memory is simply who I am. Most of
the time I wouldn’t change it for the world. The many blessings outweigh the
minor curses. I can make a roomful of people laugh so hard that they thank me
later. (Of course the opposite is also true – minus the ‘thanks.’) Maybe it’s even
what makes me a writer… who knows?
So, anyway, if you’re ever wondering where you were
or what you were doing on the 25th day of June in 1970-something, just
ask me. I’ll probably remember because: I was on a bus wearing my blue “Virginia is
for Lovers” t-shirt, and listening to Fleetwood Mac; or another time wearing my
blue jean cut-offs while washing the dishes during a thunderstorm while
listening to Gustav Holst on classical radio; or on Memorial Day weekend of 1980-something,
driving to the cottage in our blue pick-up truck, eating French fries and singing
along to Alabama’s “Mountain Music…”
And my hope is – my prayer is – that no matter the
memory, I’ll never forget.
Katie
Kolberg Memmel is the author of “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of
Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference.” For more information, visit her
website at: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com
