It’s Not Always So Photographic

Chris is going on a trip to Indianapolis soon. I was telling Dad about it when we were in Altus last weekend and mentioned that I’d never been to Indiana.

Dad glanced at me, put back another spoonful of stew, and said out of the corner of his mouth, “You have. You just don’t remember. We went through Indiana on the move from New Jersey to Alabama. We went through Indiana because we stopped by Altus first to check on this house.” (My parents live in the house they lived in when I was born. They left OK for AL — and then NJ and then AL again — when I was two and returned in ‘89. They rented that house out until ‘92.)

I remember that trip. I remember swinging through Altus. I remember pulling up to the new house in Alabama, the neighborhood kids wheeling their bikes around the cul-de-sac in the twilight. But Indiana drew a blank.

“Did we stop there?”

“No.”

“Ah, then I don’t think it counts.”

Dad went on to say that we did stop to eat at the Quaker House on that trip. “Don’t you remember those rolls I had?” he said. “I ordered this thing with rolls that I thought looked homemade and de-lish. It took forever to get there and once it finally did, the insides of the rolls were still frozen! I don’t see how you couldn’t remember those rolls.”

Did I mention I was four-years-old and didn’t actually eat any of the infamous rolls?

But I do (vaguely) remember them. I had to trace them back to when we ate at the Shaker House for Erin Jones’ wedding rehearsal in Kentucky when I was in jr. high and Mark Jones and I had a dare-a-thon. I ate an entire lemon, rhine and all. Mark ate an entire dish of butter. I remembered that being at the Shaker House had made me think of the Quaker House . . . and those rolls.

Only my dad, whose memory is amazing, would ever expect a grown woman to remember the rolls he ate one time when she was still in preschool. But if my sister had been in the room, she’d have interjected one of her favorite lines before I could’ve opened my mouth:

“Katy remembers Mom’s birth canal!”

I’m glad I don’t remember Mom’s birth canal or anything else related to July 31, 1981, but I do have a decent memory. And Dad’s comment echoed something I’ve been thinking about lately:

Memory is a strange thing.

It’s fascinating how scents, colors, and tastes connect to memory. How remembering one event can string you back through a timeline. How quickly one person sharing a memory can bring a forgotten one of yours to the surface. How surreal memories can sometimes feel, especially the ones of things you know happened to you, but remember as though they happened to someone else.

What’s even stranger, to me, are the things I don’t remember.

I remember many things in vivid detail, most often like snapshots or movie scenes, but there are some things I can’t conjure up at all. There are events and people — that I know were in my life — around which my memory just fails. I think that might be self-preservation, but it’s still strange to me.

There are some things I should be able to remember, but just can’t. Like I dated this guy off and on in college. We broke up three times and got back together twice. I remember the first time we broke up, down to the exact words we exchanged. It wasn’t a messy or emotional break-up. We hadn’t been dating that long and nothing had gone wrong between us. I remember when we broke up for good too — when, where, how, and who said what. That one was a really messy break-up. But, for the life of me, I can’t remember why or how we broke up the second time, even though I’m sure it was a big deal. He’d told me he loved me months before.

I remember the beginning. I remember the end. But I just can’t see the middle.

Then, of course, there are the things I shouldn’t be able to remember, like anything before the age of two. There are entire years of my life that don’t feel like they belong to me because I know nothing of them other than what I’ve been told.

And I know, if I live long enough, my life will probably end the same way.

In the last years of my Papa Joe’s life, he could barely remember anything. He knew his birthday and that he delivered ice in the 50s, but nothing else. His memory loss was progressive and due to nothing, save old age. First he didn’t remember the grandkids, but he remembered my dad. He could remember being in the Army, marrying my grandmother, but he had no short-term memory. My dad would take us for a drive in the Hill Country and we’d have this conversation about 20 times:

Dad: “How old are you, Daddy?”

Papa Joe: “Well, I’m not sure.”

Dad: “93.”

Papa Joe: “Get away! That old, eh?”

Dad: “You remember when you delivered ice?”

Papa Joe: “Worked every day for a dollar.”

Dad: “You ever take a day off?”

Papa Joe: “No. Not even Christmas. People always needed ice.”

Dad: “You remember my daughter?”

Papa Joe: “Don’t figure I do.”

Dad: “That’s my Katy back there. Your granddaughter.”

Papa Joe, looking back at me: “Oh, right.”

There’d be a pause and then Papa Joe would either say: “We’re gonna keep drivin’, right? We just got started,” (even though we’d been gone at least an hour) or, “You know supper at my place is at 5. I don’t wanna miss my supper.” And then the conversation would start over.

Eventually, Papa Joe didn’t know anyone or anything other than his name and the fact that he really liked pie.

I tend to think of experience as something very personal. There are many experiences/memories that I treasure by “guarding” them. I don’t want them cheapened by letting them spill over the borders created between the other person (in the experience) and me. There are just some things that feel the best and the most special when they belong exclusively to “us.” I doubt I’ll ever change my mind about that.

But over the last few months, I’ve been thinking how bizarre (and humbling) it is that we all have (or have had) at least one person in our lives who knows something about us that we don’t even know. Someone who remembers a shared experience that you don’t. Someone who changed your diaper or remembers your first words. Someone who knows a secret about you that you don’t even know exists. Someone you don’t remember because you were either too distracted or too young or too old, but who remembers you well.

There’s something very human and intimate in that, I think. Connection, both genetic and psychological, comes built in. I can never belong exclusively to myself.

****

P.S. In honor of memory and connection, I thought I’d try to remember when I first met each of you semi-regular (or even occasional) commenters/readers. I’ll go alphabetically, so don’t get competitive. And try not to get your feelings hurt if I just can’t remember

Allie — On Lex’s blog, last year.

Brandon — I’m not sure. I know I met your wife in Christian History. But I don’t think we officially met until you guys (finally) came to Point Team at Walt and Lindsey’s apartment.

Chelsea — On John’s blog, last year.

Chris — I already covered that one.

Cristin — I’m not sure exactly. You’re just in the blur of HSU freshman girls I met in 1999. But I do remember that we hung out together for the first time after you saw me at a Waterdeep/Normals show with a guy your grandmother knew. He, Jeff, Melissa, and I went up to the top of FNB afterwards. You, Rose, and somebody else showed up and you asked me to come by your room when I got home. We talked and ate pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms.

Farky — Via Lex’s and Steve’s blogs this year, though I’d heard of you before then.

Jamie — At Crosspoint in ‘04, I think. You sang with Chris. But I met you before that.

Jan — Late ‘02, when I stayed at your house with Chris on my way to Norman, OK, for Kara’s bridal shower.

John — On my blog, last year when you fell in love with my mutual love for the Gilmores in “Looking Up (Kind of) In the Land of Stars and Hollows.”

Joseph — I’m gonna say ‘98 when Crista lived with Jen in the Hickory house. I remember you guys cooking in the kitchen one afternoon when I came in the side door. But I don’t think we actually had a conversation until that first trip to judge debates with Keri.

JSmo — July 31, 1981, at Jackson County Memorial Hospital, but I can’t remember you before that night we slept in the bathtub for tornado protection in AL in ‘83. You hit your head on the faucet. It was dark.

Jules — 1999, when I was just “The Roommate.” I think we also used to eat at The Cotton Patch on Sunday nights with the same crowd in Fall ‘99.

Kara — 3rd grade, Will Rogers Elementary School, but we didn’t get close until we co-hosted Bonnie’s going away party at Pizza Hut at the end of 5th grade. I was very worried about having enough Pepsi. I think you were in charge of streamers.

Kevin — I think I knew of you before I started dating Chris, but I don’t think I actually met you until he brought me back to you guys’ house on our first date, Sept. 13, ‘02.

Lex — 1999 at the Mansion. Cristin and I had come over to hang out with Corely. I was sick. Corely made me take a concoction of vitamins. I spilled water on my shirt and a snot bubble came out of my nose. You told me something about PLK that wasn’t exactly true. You also asked if I knew Native American hieroglyphics because I was from OK. Cristin was terrified of Rex, but I loved him.

(Corely doesn’t read this blog, but . . . I met him in late ‘98/early ‘99 at my sister’s house on Hickory. I met Matt Chandler at the same time. When Matt told me that he liked his women like he liked his coffee, Corely felt the need to personally apologize on behalf of Matt.)

Lindsey — I’m not sure. Maybe not until the beginning of Crosspoint in ‘03, when we met at the country club, unless you guys came when we met at Jerry’s?

Nathan — See Jan.

Scott — I may have met you earlier, but I’m gonna go with Jen’s birthday dinner at Abuelo’s in Aug. ‘01.

Steve — I’d heard of you from mutual friends and my sister well before we met. And I even hung out at your brother’s college house one time during the Superbowl. But I don’t think I shook your hand until Sing ‘01, when you sat on my row and one of your kids threw-up and someone told me it was “just spit-up.” If that doesn’t count, I’ll go with last year on Lex’s blog. But I’ve read your blog since back in the days when Chris blogged all the time. Even so, I’m pretty sure he got to yours via one of Lex’s.

Trev — See Nathan.

Walt — I’ll say PDBC Jan. 2000, when you taught my SS class on Daniel, though I have a vague memory of some freshman girls mentioning you in the dorm hallway one night before that, and I knew who they were talking about. Somehow that doesn’t even seem like it was you, but I know that it was. The strangeness of memory strikes again.