Memories

I was out with friends earlier this week and old photos came out, which started the reminiscing, which made me think about the things that stick with us and how two people can have the same experience but the things that we remember are so different. 

Completely normal right?  

The memory that caught my attention was from a day my nephew and I had in New York.  His parents both had connections to the city from when they worked on their PhDs’, so they chose the city as the backdrop for their vows. 

My nephew and I spent our last day together, before catching a flight home.  We did the bus tour through the boroughs - in the rain, wearing white plastic raincoats provided by the bus tour …  I have the picture to prove his discontent … which was followed by the carousel at Central Park - which we had to ourselves.

As we started our walk back to the hotel, I asked him if he was hungry - he was, so I bought him street meat.  Ok, I bought us both street meat.  

He was wearing crocs and his socks were wet, when I asked if he had more in his luggage, he didn’t know … we happened to be passing a Gap - I bought him a three pack of black trouser socks. Note: my thought process on the socks - I was worried he would catch a cold or something on the plane ride because his feet were cold and wet.  So, we bought socks.  I had him put on a pair in the store - after drying off his feet and his crocs.  I had him change into the second pair when we got to the airport.  

From there, we made one final stop - Starbucks, for hot chocolate and a latte (some things don’t change) and finally we made our way back to the hotel where we collected our luggage, met the rest of our group and grabbed a taxi to the airport.  

When his Mother got home she asked how his time had been … he told her I bought him socks and street meat.  These were the things that stood out - in a good way - to him. 

When I remember the day, I remember the carousel and the walk to the hotel. After we grabbed our Starbucks, I had asked him if he was good or if he needed to hold my hand … the streets were crowded and I didn’t want us to get separated.  I was met with a hard no.  I got it … just at that age where he was too old to be holding his aunt’s hand … I had to have him stand to the side for a minute while I got my bearings … he informed me he could wait while I checked the map … insert the laughing here. 

I did not have a map - note: this was before smartphones … I had a flip phone that you could text from if you had the patience to hit the keys one to three times per letter - depending on the letter you were trying to type … so, old school.  

I digress … my not having a map wasn’t a stand out - his reaction was.  He was mortified - how could I not have a map?  Did I know where I was going?  My response of “yes, in the sense that I have a general idea of where I am and where I should be … yes” was met with a look of absolute horror.  As we made our way across the street … his hand slipped into mine and stayed there until I answered “I know exactly where we are.”  To anyone who has ever travelled with kids - how many times do they ask “are we there yet” … you understand how many times I was asked “do you know where we are yet?”  Also, I’m positive he questioned the sanity of all the adults in his life for leaving him in my care.  

The memory made me smile - it always makes me smile. It’s been a while since I thought about it.  It also made me think of how the same event can be seen or felt or remembered differently.  It’s not about right or wrong … it’s just the lens we see the event through. The people, the place, the time … I love that in the time away from his Mom, I made the highlight reel.  Well, me, the socks and the street meat!

My memory is just that - mine.  Shaped by who I am and where I’ve been because that influences so much of how I see and feel and experience the world around me.  How I remember things can tell me about who I was and how far I’ve come. It’s a lens - not just on the past, but on a past version of myself. 

That memory of my nephew - it stood out for different reasons then than it does now.  While the memory itself didn’t change - the value of it did.  I’m fortunate - I get to layer in his version of that day … what stood out to him as meaningful … I get his context blended with mine … That feels like a gift - one we don’t always have the luxury of being given. 

Memory is a funny thing - unreliable, shaped by who we are in the moments the memories are being created. Some feel vivid - even years later - while others have faded and are just out of focus … 

This one is somewhere in the middle … it’s not my only memory of him - I have thousands. It’s just one that stands out … that sums up - us.  Which is both true and untrue - if that makes any sense? 

I can’t explain it in a way that makes sense - not even to myself.  When the memory comes to mind … all the feelings, the sounds, all the senses circle it … live in it … like we are living the moment again - in another universe, in another time.  Like in infinite worlds - that memory always exists … we lived that in every version of us.  We might not have all of the same experiences in those worlds … but we had this one … with the socks and street meat and his hand finding mine.