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Do you remember your childhood?

I mean, REALLY remember?

I remember things.

I remember how my older brother and I would swim laps around our “swimming pool” (aka, watering tank) and make a current. We would float underwater until it stopped. The water wasn’t pristine, chlorinated or filtered water. It was hose water that turned green and dirty in the Kansas weather, but we didn’t care. There were water bugs and wasps. So many wasps. It didn’t matter, though.

I remember crawling up on the roof of the house to “sun tan” and roller skating in our basement when it was too hot outside.

I remember Mom hanging clothes on the line and the way Christmas Eve was magical all day long.

I remember things.

Do you ever wonder why we remember the most random things?

I remember the one specific night that I looked for Santa Clause out my bedroom window for hours because I was in denial that he wasn’t real. I remember the time my mom took me to the doctor because I’d been coughing and miserable for weeks and ended up being diagnosed with tonsillitis. This is just the type of memory that all teens wish to remember, right?

I remember this one night when we came home from one of my high school basketball games, and we made frozen Red Baron pizza, and Dad gave me advice about the things I needed to improve. Why that night? Why do I remember that Red Baron pizza and that one event?

I think that life is parceled into these boxes that are somehow an unconventional unit of time that separates our lives in unique ways.  They don’t match anyone else’s unless you are meant to connect at that particular time.

As I look back on my life thus far, my 43 (almost 44 years…yikes) have been divided into such strange parcels.  They don’t operate by year.  Instead, they band together in some cosmic type of organization that would only make sense to me.

Childhood?  At least three different eras.  College? One big whirlwind.  Life as an adult?  How much time do you have?

I think that there is value in looking back at those memories you have stored and evaluating why those particular memories made the “core memories” bank.  (Thank you Inside Out™.)

Why do I remember those summer days in the “pool” with my older brother?  Because I idolize him and have always looked up to him.

Why do I remember all of the Saturdays that my older sister picked me up in the early morning hours and took me garage sale-ing with her?  Because those memories hold so many laughs and feelings of connection and belonging.

Why do I distinctly remember all of the times my little brother and I fought?  Why would one need to remember the times you hit your younger brother over the head with a book?  Or a remote?  Or a crochet mallet?  (True story.)

The answer?  Because these moments made me FEEL.

I felt love.  I felt connection.  I felt that no matter what I did, I knew that I was loved regardless.  (Yes.  Even my younger brother somehow loves me despite all of the times I bashed him on the head with numerous objects.)

As an adult now, I look back on my childhood memories and wonder what my own children will remember.

Will they remember the birthday cake I made like I remember the Mickey Mouse cake that my parents bought and hid in the freezer until my birthday when I was convinced there wasn’t a cake at all?  Will they remember road trips and vacation hotels and the way I made sure to be at every sporting event they participated in?  Will they remember random times like when they played in the backyard after a Phoenix monsoon that cancelled school and flooded our patio?

I don’t know.

What I DO know is that miraculum has something to do with all of this. 

Sometimes, it hides. 

Miraculum seems to appear at the moments when you are the most needy, the most scared, and the most vulnerable. 

But it always shows up.

Maybe those whisps of memories that we cling to were moments of miraculum that we didn’t even realize were happening at the time. 

Be grateful (for memories), water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.

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2 Comments

  1. Love this like I do every time I read one of your stories. This is so great, didn’t know you remembered such small things and love it.

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