There is never a day when I don't remember. Some days I remember more than others. Now that my sister Katie has moved out (Whoop! Whoop!) and lives on her own i want to remember. I need to remember. I remember the smallest details from a day when we were kids. All the days when the little plastic playground in our living room became our oasis of fantasy. Where we would slay dragons and play house. Where my dad became the pony and we would ride on his back all the way to the other side of the land. Sometimes we pretended like we were inmates trapped by the evil parental unit. We shared that sliver of happiness together. I remember the day when we picked out my sister's dog Missy. Wandering the halls of the SPCA and peeking into the rooms with cages of puppies. All of them howling and knowing they weren't hurting but simply happy to see someone. And then we spotted Missy. We took our excited shaking hand and turned the lock on her cage as she bolted out. We sat outside and watched her as she sniffed us with incredible force.
I will forever and always know of my grandfather. I don't remember my grandpa at all. He died when I was 2-3 years old. The best memory of him really isn't a memory i have in my head. It is a video that my parents took of him at his birthday party holding me. He never really looked like he knew what I was. He looked at me like I was this miniscule, squirmy thing flailing around and crying a river. But I know that he is in heaven remembering me. I remember days before my Mormor's stroke when we played restaurant in her living room. I would take her order on a yellow post-it note and then prepare her dinner using quarters that she had collected over the years. I remember how dirty the money was, my hands dripping in germs. My Morfar would always hide the money from me in an empty beer keg. He knew that I would always find it the next day.
I remember the day when I woke my dad up at 6:00 in the morning just so we could hang out. He would make this mountain of fluffy steam filled pancakes. I would smother them in spreadable "I Can't Believe it's not Butter" butter. Then just ever so slightly pour on some "Log Cabin" maple syrup. Good times. There are so many memories I wish I knew how to explain. But I guess that that is part of the glory of memories. You don't always have to share them. You let others make memories of their own.
I love the detail that you use. And how in the beginning you say how you "need to remember" I can feel the urgency that you have for remembering. And I love your ending. One thing that I wish you would have done is went more into detail about your childhood with your sister. I feel like parts of it I can picture, but then there are some parts that I can't as clearly. But its a good piece :)
ReplyDeleteI really loved your article because i can relate to having the memories with fun moments at home. i thought you had a lot of memories and it was very building on how well you remembered everything from the point you made in the beginning but i would of used a little more sensory detail so the reader can picture the scene. i like your doggy :)
ReplyDeleteI liked the part where you talked about the money being dirty. It makes me think of a sweaty palm. You really painted the picture there, and also when you were picking a puppy out, i could totally picture it. I think you could have gone into more detail with certain parts. But mostly i could picture everything.
ReplyDeleteI loved this, the memories you wrote are really relateable. like when your dad woke up early just to hang out with you.(:
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