Friday, August 22


Did you know that today (well yesterday, since it's now after midnight) is the one year anniversary of my blog? Don't worry, I'm not going to make another video montage.

So I've been thinking about why I like having a blog. I've found it can be a good outlet for my emotions, because this mothering business I'm in is definitely emotional. Also, I've found that I kind of enjoy writing. Though I don't know if this actually counts as "real" writing since I don't brainstorm, and draft, or edit...which is probably why I like it. Also, I like that it gives me a place to write down any old memories that come to me, or a recent event that I'll want to remember. Which leads me to my next point.

I have a terrible memory. I'm not sure why, but I always have. I cannot remember the names of any teachers I've ever had, except for two from high school, and even those come and go. I don't really remember what I was like growing up, what I liked to do, what my favorite colors or favorite toys were, or even the names of half my friends. And you know how some people talk about their very first memory from when they were like 4? That's not me. It seems most days the earliest memory I have is from the night before. Also, most of what I do remember is very visual. My memories come in snip its, flashes of people's faces, or what they were wearing or what they were doing. I don't remember sounds so much as pictures. Is everyone like that? For example, I can picture myself walking to my senior English class in high school, almost as if I'm watching myself from above, but I can't remember much about my senior year of high school, like what classes I took, what I did after school, what my favorite subject was, what graduation was like. I think it's all buried in my brain somewhere though, and every now and then something prods a memory out of the dark recesses. Of course I do have a few fall back memories that are the only things I remember, which means I've shared them enough times now that I probably can't forget them. I've been reminded yet again of one of these while my brother and his wife have been in town this last week.

My brother Aaron is 18 months younger than me and even though he's taller and stronger, I have always been a bit protective of him. It's not that he needed me to watch out for him, I've just always felt some sort of guardianship over him. It's lessened now, but I think that's because his wife is something fierce and would never let anything happen to him either. I hope I haven't given you the impression that he's a sissy, because he's not. He can take care of himself and doesn't need either his sister or his wife to do it. Anyway, onto my memory, sorry, but details are vague. Which, on second thought, probably makes the story better.

It was the first or second winter after my family had moved to a suburb of Portland Oregon and it was snowing, which is rare for that area. I was in either 8th or 9th grade, and my two brothers and I were out trying to sled down a little hill across the street from our house. While we were out there this extremely dumb kid named Colby came over and started teasing us. He was mean to everyone, but he seemed to always be picking on Aaron and a few of his friends. I can't remember why he was teasing us that particular time, I just remember that he was making me really mad! It didn't upset me too much when he'd tease me or Peter, but when he turned and started bothering Aaron I just snapped. Colby and Aaron were at the bottom of the hill, and I was at the top. I got so angry that my instincts kicked in, and I leapt off the hill, aimed right for Colby, and knocked him to the ground. I honestly don't remember what happened after that. I probably sat on him for a minute, told him to leave us alone, maybe called him a name. I'd like to think that I punched him, but I probably didn't--I'm not really a fighter, so I'm sure I ran out of gusto before it ever got that far. I do know that he left and didn't bother my brother so much after that, so I guess I scared him enough.

While it makes me sad that I can't remember a lot of stuff, it does comfort me to know that I remember stories like that--stories that make me seem cooler than I really am.


The Shill Spill said...

You are cool Lis! For this I am sure! One, you can sit on a kid and call him a name...that you don't remember...and take care of things on your own. And two, you don't have to worry about remembering things...and therefore don't have to recall them for people. (Unlike the rest of us...who may have just a tiny bit better memory...but not much...and be guilted because we can't remember as well as the other person wants us to.)
You're pretty cool if you ask me!

mamahegji said...

yet another violent history of my children that i never knew about. where was i?
go lisa!!! cheese-boy deserved everything he got.

Anonymous said...

i like that story too. it makes me feel warm and safe, like a tasteless piece of bread resting under a hot lamp on a buffet line, surrounded by delicious cheesy sticks and sweet, moist dessert cake.