I Knew Then What I Forgot Later

There are stories that come up repeatedly about my childhood that I look back upon fondly, that I chuckle about, that I don’t have my own memories of but feel as if I do simply because I’ve heard aunts and cousins and my mother and brothers parade them out in front of company and new friends and old friends and boyfriends and lovers alike.

There’s the time I glued my eye shut with my father’s model airplane glue.

There’s the time I tried to climb over my aunt’s shoulder and out of the Ferris wheel because I had discovered I wasn’t the biggest fan of heights.

There’s the time I sang “Coco-ka-bye bear!” over and over and over again, until one day the light went on in my father’s head and he shouted out “Colt 45 BEER! She’s singing the jingle to the BEER commercial!”

There’s the time my eyes rolled back in my head because I apparently hadn’t had enough potassium.

There’s the time I got lost at Busch Gardens in Florida and scared my mom half senseless.

There’s the time I peed my pants while attempting to snorkel in three inch deep water.

There’s the time I broke that glass bottle against the cement curb (and all over my hands and feet,) because I thought it would be easier to bang out some remaining dirt in the bottom of the bottle rather than scrape it out with my hand.

There’s the time I called my mom at work to snitch on my brother for having a girl over while Mom wasn’t there. (I’m a bad sister, I know.)

All these things about me I know, and remember, and feel as if I remember, though most of them I don’t. I know that I’m curious. I know that I don’t like Ferris wheels or glass elevators or rope bridges. I know that I can randomly burst into song and that it’s better if you know how to pronounce the words. I know that I need to eat bananas and drink Coke when I’m feeling low in potassium (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.) I know I’m adventurous. I know I sometimes focus too much on one thing and forget about everything else. I know that sometimes the shortcuts I take are ill-advised. And I know that I should think ahead and consider if perhaps one day down the road I might need a favour too.

But out from a forgotten place came two very strong memories of my childhood this evening, over birthday dinner with Dad. When I was little I used to spend every other weekend at my dad’s place. And, at this time in his life, my dad was an independent book publisher for aviation books, which meant, oh to my great luck, that twenty years ago in his home he had several computers, some comparatively primitive desktop publishing software and a photocopier. And with these tools, weekend after weekend, I used to set seriously to work, as only a seven year old can, to publishing my monthly neighbourhood newsletter. I was a budding journalist, artist, editor and papergirl all-in-one. But I didn’t just use these tools of technology to report the truth. I also used them to weave my tales. By the age of twelve, my dad helped me bind my first unfinished novel. It was an adventure tale of a gang of kids from Corpus Christi, Texas who found a treasure map and followed the map along the coastline and down to Mexico, to riches and buried treasure galore. And, if I recall correctly, I was pretty darn proud of the story.

Oh how I had forgotten the days spent reading and writing, editing, creating crossword puzzles, laying out the masthead, plotting out the characters’ next adventures and perfecting my journalistic integrity and my artistic voice, I’ll never know! I don’t know whether I seriously considered pursuing either of these options and then gave up, or whether I had always considered them “just fun” and not something you set out to do for your life’s work. But somewhere along the line I forgot, and then felt like I remembered but didn’t know why, and then remembered again for the first time in a long time tonight.

The best thing is – Dad kept them, the newsletters and the unfinished manuscript. So he’ll go home and search through old boxes and desk drawers for them. And when I see him next I hope I’ll get to relive the days and have a chuckle and admire what I knew then but forgot later. See, I knew there was an upside to having a packrat for a father!