The Resistance of Memory

I have already mentioned my irritation with Facebook status updates that order you to do the same (especially when they are accompanied by the accusation that you just don’t care), but there was one specific idea that had intrigued me. You were supposed to set your status asking people to share how you met, or your first memory of them (there were variations), and then they should make that their status so you could post on their wall.

Well, I did try that one, and that was okay, but there were some people whom I would have liked to have seen posts from that I didn’t, and some that posted, and I didn’t really have anything good to share in return, and sometimes my earliest memory was not the cool one. I kind of toyed with the idea of just picking one week and posting whatever memories I felt like on whatever walls I felt like, and maybe other people would do it. I could call it “Nostalgia week”.

Well the week before my twenty-year reunion seemed like a reasonable time to go for it, so that’s what I have done. I also looked through old yearbooks and literary journals, and there are some interesting things.

First of all, where did my 3rd and 5th grade pictures and 8th grade yearbook go? It’s weird that they are not with the rest of the stuff. It’s not a tragedy, but it’s a little annoying.

Mainly though, I have pondered the “stickiness” of memories. Some things are so clear, and some are faded, and some are just gone. For example, I was at a wedding reception lately, and I ran into someone who was my girls’ camp leader for, I think, four of the five years I went. She knew she knew me, but couldn’t quite place me, so I reminded her and she said, “That’s right! You’re the one who made all the wonderful crafts!”

I did not remember that, but then thinking about it, I did remember that it was true. I could even picture one craft, but it was very dim. I could get at faint traces with a reminder. Sometimes, there is not even that.

In my seventh grade yearbook, there is a complex coding system consisting of stars, hearts, mustaches, nose zits, and mouseketeer hats. Clearly it came out of a mixture of immaturity and boredom, and it is embarrassing now. Some of the people I remember quite well, and why they have that rating. There are some boys with hearts that I don’t remember, but I liked a lot of boys, and it was usually passive, so that’s not a big deal. However, there are mustaches (showing an active dislike or resentment) that I don’t remember at all. In addition, there are girls who are double-starred. This means that either we were good friends or that maybe I did not hang out with them because they were older, but that they were really nice to me and I respected them a lot. Still, the mind draws a blank.

Another issue is concern about putting the wrong memory. Oddly, there were several people who looked alike. When I look at class or family pictures from the seventies, it always kind of looks like mine, I guess because of the clothes. In the eighties, it’s probably the hair. So, I might have thought it was one person, but it was really another, and how awkward would that be! Actually, one issue with a lot of the athletes that I managed is that everything was kind of done as a unit. It’s not any more of a memory with Jason than it is with Mark.

Actually, thinking about the athletes leads to another issue, in that a lot of the things I do remember are not really good for Facebook posts—maybe they are just a little too crude, or not flattering to one of us, or maybe it is best forgotten, like “Hey, remember when you told everyone that I liked Casey and he went from being like my best friend to never speaking to me again?” or “I remember always being afraid you were going to kill yourself because you knew way too much about suicide for how alienated you were.”

It’s not that there can’t be good conversations about some of these things, and in a lot of the cases where I remember someone being a jerk, we’re cool now, and there’s no anger left, but they don’t necessarily work for nostalgic wall posts.

So, I don’t have stories for some people. Some of them I have always remembered their names and faces immediately, but I have no good stories. Others I don’t remember, but I really like now. And seriously, some of my Facebook friends I specifically remember that we never spoke or came into contact, but hey, why is that a reason not to be friends now?

I did have this idea that then other people would start posting memories to other people too, and it would be this kind of love-fest, and I don’t think it is happening to the extent that I wanted. Maybe I was unrealistic in my hopes, but I could also be missing things, because I am posting so much, I’ll see Gina posted on so-and-so’s wall and 29 similar stories. Still, some people have posted memories to me, and some conversations have gotten started on posts I have made, as we remember classes and teachers and things we have in our shared experience.

I wish I had a story for everyone—a good one, but we can always make new ones. In the immortal words of Simple Minds, Don’t You Forget About Me.