Do You Remember When…

I have always had a great memory. For some reason I have the ability to remember events from my childhood that others think are impossible. And when I say childhood, I mean infancy. I remember sitting in my crib staring at my parents staring at me. I remember lying on my back playing with my feet. I remember stretching out across the bottom step of our non-carpeted indoor stairs with my head against the wall trying, in vain, to make my feet touch the wall on the other side, and I remember chewing the paint off the sill of my bedroom window. Fortunately, I don’t remember the stomach pumping that followed.

I don’t vaguely remember these things either; I totally remember these things. The way things smelled, the way the sun shone through the blinds in my room, and the way my father walked around jingling the change in his pockets to the sounds of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass are all vivid memories for me. I can clearly see his jet-black hair, white t-shirt and tan khakis and black belt as he strolled around the house jingling to every song from Going Places. 

I used to watch my father a lot, almost like he was a real live movie. He had a James Garner appearance, a smirk like Paul Neman and a Steve McQueen stare. He was a southpaw and did everything backwards. He had a peculiar way of sitting in his chair while he was watching television. I can still hear him laugh, clear his throat and cough. Since he was a smoker he made some amazing sounds in the bathroom first thing in the morning that I can only equate to as whale sounds.

I always wanted to be him. I remember crying because my feet were too wide to wear penny loafers. I thought his were so cool. He actually put pennies in the slits of the shoes. When I was four years old our family went to the drive-in movies to see Dr. Zhivago. We got there early, before the sun went down, and had a picnic on the back of the car;  then I played on a big swing set.

When the sun finally set it became a little chilly, so my dad and I put on our matching sweaters. They were white sailing sweaters with blue and red trim and matched perfectly. I was his true Mini-me. During the movie we had to go to the bathroom, so we walked past other families in their cars to the rest area. I remember thinking how cool we looked walking together and was sure those watching us were jealous.

It was hot when we walked in, so I removed my button up Mini-me sweater and hung it up on the wall. It wasn’t until the next day that we discovered it was missing. I had left it there by mistake. My mother called lost and found, but nobody had turned it in. I was crushed. I wanted them to replace it so bad but they never did. It left me a little disconnected and every time I saw him wearing his sweater I became sad. I can recall these images at will.

When I talk about these images, I have the ability to recall events with all the detailed specifics intact, placing the listener at the scene. I overheard my brother in law, John, once describing a movie he had just seen to some friends. Suddenly he stopped and said, “No, wait, I didn’t see that movie; Neil told me about it.”

I have been accused of “creative embellishment” when I bring up these specific details. Their meer mention incites ridicule from my friends. When I re-live a story I use the Way Back Machine. I call it that because there comes a time in our lives as we age, when we forget everything from certain periods of our life, but my memories come roaring back as if they happened minutes ago. It is like I am using a time machine, but everyone knows those don’t exist, so I am using a Way Back Machine.

It is easy to use, and I don’t even have to close my eyes. Right now I am seeing my best friend, Timmy Fitzpatrick or “Fitz,” standing on a Flexible Flyer sled using ropes to steer. He is flying down Appleton Avenue after a snowstorm singing, “Bye bye, Miss American Pie” at the top of his lungs. As he zips past me, snow from the street flies up and lands on my black combat boots. Seconds later, he hits a patch of bare street where the Sullivan’s car used to live and catapults headfirst through a shower of sparks from the rudders of his sled into a nearby hedge. After he stuck, he was followed by his sled. I still laugh just as hard now, when I remember it, as I did then. The sound of it was hilarious, and his red knit hat became permanently dented. You have to love the Way Back Machine.