It’s hard to pinpoint what my earliest stored memory is precisely. The memories come in flashes faster than I can type them. One memory isn’t even mine. It’s my moms retelling of a time she came home late one night from a church prayer meeting, and I was sitting a foot from the living room television watching cartoons. “Hi mom,” she said I said, barely acknowledging her like it was in the middle of the day, and she chuckled that I was up so late like it was normal for me to be up that late.
Another memory I have is of me sitting on my parent’s bed watching I Love Lucy while eating a bowl of sugared-down Corn Flakes (why we just didn’t get Frosted Flakes, I don’t know).
One more: I got a big box of Legos and a black RC car with purple stripes and chrome wheels on Christmas morning with my family. I knew it was from my parents because my mom never allowed us to believe in Santa Claus. Okay, another: I remember sitting in the HEB grocery basket while my mom and dad shopped. They gave me some donuts to eat while they were shopping. It was a chocolate-cream-filled donut. It was a fantastic experience because A) the donut was one of the most delicious things I think I’d ever tasted up to that point. And B) because this was one of the first times I was astonished about breaking a social rule. I knew you had to pay for stuff before you could eat it, but there I was in broad HEB daylight, eating an HEB donut before my parents paid for it, and everyone was okay with it!
I don’t know which of these memories came first, and I don’t know why I thought of these memories, but they’re significant. I’m also sure that a recounting of my memories made you conjure up some memories of your own that are just as significant because that memory makes you laugh or cry or scared or numb.
We’re all a bunch of walking memory sticks, products of our experiences and exchanges with strangers, families, and novelties that shape how we interact with our world today. These memories are what give us stories. Stories are meant to be told—sometimes to smaller, more intimate audiences and wider groups because our stories connect us from person to person in our growingly disconnected world. The proof is in your memories triggered by the memories I told you above.
What did late-night cartoons, Corn Flakes, sugar, I Love Lucy, grocery store shopping, and cream-filled donuts make you think of? How did it make you feel? What did you analyze about my stories? How you answer these questions contributes to the story you’re writing daily in your memory. And if the story you’re writing about other people is distant and alien, you’re more likely to treat others as “others.”
That’s why I’m on a mission this month to tell stories to connect with you and you with me. That doesn’t mean we’ll agree or create any deep bonds. Maybe, maybe not. But we might recognize another human the next time we see or hear them doing or saying something weird. We might learn we’re not so different after all.
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