Childhood Memories

Two little boys were battling with great animation, plastic light sabres flying, arms poised in the fashion of their favorite character. Soon they returned to the TV for a second look at Star Wars III Revenge of the Sith. Ah, the joys of play days with friends on a Sunday afternoon. I suppose such is the stuff of memories.

I fondly recall lovely afternoons shared with girlfriends, experimenting with hairstyles, dressing dolls, checking out the mom's makeup drawer. As years passed, such times consisted of listening to the newest Beatles' album, watching Saturday night TV (Sonny and Cher, Tom Jones), studying fashion magazines. Even then I was a student of my surroundings. With avid interest I observed every element of decor, every family pattern that differed from my own. Watching one friend's mom fold jeans from the dryer one day has changed the way I care for my Levis (or Banana Republics!) ever since. It was at my best friend's house that I first experienced 'eggs over easy' and pizza made from a box. I savored with absolute delight such newfound delicacies. How did I miss out on this all my life?

Funny now to think that was my life. I could more readily believe that it was a movie, a dream.

This afternoon I looked at a photo album with my good friend. Images of young boys on their first hunting expedition were followed by posings on Christmas morning. Family gatherings and birthday parties from just a few short years ago had been captured there. As I turned the pages we saw likenesses of a little redhead and her older sister joining in the fun. I recognized them immediately. Why were they such little girls then? How could so much change in so little time? How could 7 years already seem so long ago and far away?

I do not have a good memory. In amazement I listen to stories recalled by so many. They often are telling about events I attended, adventures in which I was involved. Maybe, just maybe something said will jog my memory; there may be a faint recollection. If I strain at the vague image stirred I may possibly bring it into clearer focus. Most likely not. Still, the few memories that remain are precious. It is a gift from God to remember.

Often I ponder the impact of childhood years. As seasons come and go, these days will become vague recollections, images faded with the passing of time. But I do believe that the importance of character and values established during childhood far supercedes that of cognizant memories. I hope they have warm fuzzies when they think of home and all that we shared, but I know they won't remember it all. Still, something of essence will remain. I absolutely believe that.