It is funny, but there was a period in my young adult life when I thought that all of my childhood memories did not exist. It was not that I had a horrible childhood; I just felt that for some reason I could not remember much of my childhood. My mother divorced my father when I was probably about four or five, but I really do not have any memories of my father when I was young.
I remember bits and pieces of childhood experiences. For example, my younger brother Jamie has a birthday four days from mine. We always celebrated our birthdays together, we would get the same gifts, and I really hated this. I wanted a day that was special just for me. One happy memory, though, was when we both got Big Wheels for our birthday, I remember riding them up and down the alley in the housing project that we lived in. The alley was made of concrete slabs, it was riddled with cracks and grass growing from these cracks, and cars parked on either side of the alley. For some reason we were allowed to ride up and down this alleyway, apparently since there were so many kids in this project, the alley was a safe place.
Other things that I remember from this time in my life are the cold, snowy winters. The building of snowmen in the front lawn and sledding down a hill that was probably less than three feet high. There was also a bush in our front yard and I used to stop at a Kmart after school with a friend that was a bad influence. We would always steal a toy and I would hide it in the bush in the front of the house, trying to convince my mom later that I had found it. She knew I was lying and brought me back to the store to confess my crime.
Later we lived in a house that was the top floor of a duplex owned by my grandparent’s. Memories from this time are also intermittent, but I remember spending time with my grandfather over the summer at a cottage in the woods. There were three different houses, two were on a river, and one was like a farm. I do not know if these memories occurred before or after the time we lived above my grandparents or if they occurred at the same time. The smell of butane lighters always reminds me of my grandfather, and my grandmother always had a few pieces of candy in her purse.
It is interesting, as I try to rekindle some of these memories, I can almost see and feel the summer’s spent on the river. For example, I remember the name Fox River, and the house on this river was right next to a forest. Although it was not really a forest, just a wooded area between two houses, it was easy to feel as if you were lost in this area. They must have stayed at this place for a couple of years, because I remember summer’s where the sound of frogs filled the air. Later summers some environmental damage must have been done because I remember feeling a great sense of sadness and loss that the frogs were no longer there. I even used to have dreams about this place, but in these dreams the fish and wildlife were all gone. It was very sad.
As I close my eyes and think of these childhood memories, the senses really do play a role in helping to remember. For instance, I am thinking of the smells of Christmas dinners in which all of the sisters (my grandparents had four daughters) and their children (my two cousins) would get together. It was always a time of joy, of playing, of laughter, and of good food. My grandfather used to make a dessert that was basically an angel food cake, shredded into pieces, with a can of fruit cocktail poured over it and stirred with a package of cool whip. For some reason I loved this dessert more than anything.
So the senses of smell, of place, of the seasons do have a powerful impact on helping me to remember. I am trying to think of any aural memories, sounds that were unique, that might help me remember things as well. I remember my mom playing vinyl records on a record player, and I remember the sounds of dogs barking, but for me the sense of sound does not seem to play as strong a role in helping me to remember things.
What helps you remember?
The Chair: Third Person
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