I remember with the deepest pleasure entering Grand Central Station coming home from summer camp and seeing my mother and father waiting for me on the platform. What is your sustaining memory of your parents, either or both?
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Easier for me to evoke that memory about my beloved grandparents.
From my earliest age, I remember looking up from a wicker basket at my grandparents. We were on a train. I was on the floor between their feet. Grandpa had a gray felt hat on. They both wore wire rim glasses. And they were smiling down at me and the happy love on their faces is what I remember so clearly to this day.
When I would recall that memory to my mother, which probably began when I was around three or four and continued until the day she died, mom would get a dismissive, derisive look on her face and say, “Oh, you couldn’t possibly remember that, you were only six weeks old. You must’ve heard me talking about it.“
But she’s wrong. I do remember it s if it was yesterday.
I can’t even explain why I would’ve known they were my grandparents at six weeks old! I have no proof it’s even possible to remember anything at that age.
Maybe it’s a soul thing, I don’t know.
But memories are memories and so, true at least to us, if potentially Rashomonic. So whether my mom was right or I am, matters not. The writing on my heart is indelible for sure, and thanks for asking that question Susie.
I grew up in Brooklyn, where summer nights meant Bungalow Bar ice cream, Double-Dutch jump rope, and evening trips to Rockaway Playland and Coney Island. Frequently, my father would come home from work and announce that we were going to Coney Island, where the rides were the best. One in particular always intrigued me, the Parachute Jump. I imagined that ride made you feel like you were flying.
I remember my mother explaining that I couldn't go on the Jump until I met the height requirement. I couldn't wait, I thought. The summer I did, tuned out, I was too scared to go on that ride.
One evening, my father, who was also scared of that ride, took my hand and led me to the Jump. He told me we would go on that ride together. He assured me, "Everything would be okay." He was right; it was. And so was I because coming down the Jump did feel like flying. What a night!
When my parents were out for the evening I was allowed to fall asleep in their bed watching t.v. And when they returned, they would bring me cookies and milk before taking me to my own room. It felt like a party. I especially recall the smell of my mother's Tweed perfume (mixed with scotch) and the tinkling sound of her gold charm bracelet when she bent down to wake me up.
So many sense impressions in these recollections. The taste, the smell, the sound of your parents returning to you. It's informative that we hold these memories in the body.
Riding the carousel in Central Park endlessly and always happy ( and relieved$ to see mother’s face amongst other mother’s ,standing outside the archway as I spun around each time... so grateful she was always there -- smiling at each of my rounds... all to the music of the carousel which I can still call up in my head!!!
I remember that as well...although my memory is colored by some fear of being high up on the pony. Interesting though how both of us are recalling a sense of safety and reliability. How we were always caught and brought back even when we went fast or far away.
Easier for me to evoke that memory about my beloved grandparents.
From my earliest age, I remember looking up from a wicker basket at my grandparents. We were on a train. I was on the floor between their feet. Grandpa had a gray felt hat on. They both wore wire rim glasses. And they were smiling down at me and the happy love on their faces is what I remember so clearly to this day.
When I would recall that memory to my mother, which probably began when I was around three or four and continued until the day she died, mom would get a dismissive, derisive look on her face and say, “Oh, you couldn’t possibly remember that, you were only six weeks old. You must’ve heard me talking about it.“
But she’s wrong. I do remember it s if it was yesterday.
I can’t even explain why I would’ve known they were my grandparents at six weeks old! I have no proof it’s even possible to remember anything at that age.
Maybe it’s a soul thing, I don’t know.
But memories are memories and so, true at least to us, if potentially Rashomonic. So whether my mom was right or I am, matters not. The writing on my heart is indelible for sure, and thanks for asking that question Susie.
You're like a cat, sleeping in the basket. I think we can absolutely have sense memories that reach us pre-cognitively. I'm so glad you remember that.
I grew up in Brooklyn, where summer nights meant Bungalow Bar ice cream, Double-Dutch jump rope, and evening trips to Rockaway Playland and Coney Island. Frequently, my father would come home from work and announce that we were going to Coney Island, where the rides were the best. One in particular always intrigued me, the Parachute Jump. I imagined that ride made you feel like you were flying.
I remember my mother explaining that I couldn't go on the Jump until I met the height requirement. I couldn't wait, I thought. The summer I did, tuned out, I was too scared to go on that ride.
One evening, my father, who was also scared of that ride, took my hand and led me to the Jump. He told me we would go on that ride together. He assured me, "Everything would be okay." He was right; it was. And so was I because coming down the Jump did feel like flying. What a night!
"We would go on that ride together." That's all you need to know.
When my parents were out for the evening I was allowed to fall asleep in their bed watching t.v. And when they returned, they would bring me cookies and milk before taking me to my own room. It felt like a party. I especially recall the smell of my mother's Tweed perfume (mixed with scotch) and the tinkling sound of her gold charm bracelet when she bent down to wake me up.
So many sense impressions in these recollections. The taste, the smell, the sound of your parents returning to you. It's informative that we hold these memories in the body.
Riding the carousel in Central Park endlessly and always happy ( and relieved$ to see mother’s face amongst other mother’s ,standing outside the archway as I spun around each time... so grateful she was always there -- smiling at each of my rounds... all to the music of the carousel which I can still call up in my head!!!
I remember that as well...although my memory is colored by some fear of being high up on the pony. Interesting though how both of us are recalling a sense of safety and reliability. How we were always caught and brought back even when we went fast or far away.