Forgotten fall
I possess an unusually strong recollection about things one wouldn't think were that memorable. Never mind I forget people's names 10 seconds after I meet them, or that I forget to move clothes from the washing machine to the dryer (which, I better do right now). But I can connect songs, events, emotions, places, and even odors to specific momenst in time. You can see much of that crazy memory here in my blog. My boys are already developing this, too -- I don't know if I'm passing it on or if my genes are passing it on. They remember something I wouldn't think they would remember, I'm surprised by it, and Lori reminds me: "Joe, they are your kids."
I already blogged about the memorable summer of 1981. That post got me thinking about the fall that followed, and this, given my abnormal memory, is what distresses me: I remember almost nothing from September and October 1981.
I know I started sixth grade in Mrs. Lynch's class, but can't picture specific moments from that beginning.
I know some of the music from that fall, but much of it was held over from the summer. Indeed, my spring/summer 1981 playlist (yes, I make playlists specific to years and seasons) is comprised of 84 songs, while my fall 1981 mix is only 39 songs. Many of the songs on the fall playlist tie me to memories after October or were songs I encountered years after 1981 that I just added to the mix because it was the proper time frame. The few songs that should be September/October 1981 songs (e.g., "Let's Groove," "Private Eyes" or "Urgent") don't take me back, even just a little.
I'm sure I did typical fall things in those two months, but I can't recall any of it. I know I saw a Monday night Bears game, but when I looked it up, they didn't play the team that, for three decades, I thought they played. I knew my memory had lost that Halloween, but I was surprised to realize it lost the entire two months. The funny thing is, I remember so much about the rest of sixth grade. I got an Atari 2600 for my birthday in early November. I remember what games I got for that Atari that Christmas. I remember playing basketball and who my teammates were that winter, and going on vacation to Florida. I remember starting baseball the following spring and the field trips our grade took. I remember the fuzzy-head pencil I owned, and the comic I drew in art class based on that pencil (which, by the way, was a Jay's potato chips pencil; do those still exist in Chicago?). I could rattle off every Number One song, every video game I discovered, every book I read, and plenty of moments from what was perhaps the most fun grade from my K-8 years. So why am I missing these two months.
If I went through the entire 1980s, I bet I couldn't come up with a two-month span where I couldn't come up with one random recollected moment. But finally, I did remember something from the fall of 1981: a girl in our grade died.
Our grade took a field trip to the Morton Arboretum in suburban Chicago. My mom chaperoned that field trip -- it might have been the only one of my field trips that either parent chaperoned. I don't remember much from the actual field trip -- an arboretum for sixth-graders probably was a little boring. We weren't supposed to have food in the arboretum, but I do remember my mom pointing out to me that two girls were sneaking cookies to each other under the guise of a whispered messages (one girl put her hand to the other girl's ear, and the other girl put her hand to same ear to "hear better" but really take the cookie). And that was it.
The next day, we learned what happened after school. A girl who had just transferred to our school and grade that fall tried crossing one of the nearby busy streets (nowhere near the crossing guard), tried turning back and got hit by a bus. She lasted a few days before succumbing to her injuries.
Continuing the lack-of-memory theme, I don't remember being sad this happened. Maybe a little stunned, but kind of resigned to the tragedy. I don't remember if any of my classmates were sad. It was early in the year and she was the new girl -- did she make any friends who would have been sobbing over the fact she died? I think her homeroom teacher was in her first year teaching -- how terrible that must have been for her: You start your career with a dead student. I don't remember if our class went to the funeral, or if the school held was a memorial mass for students to remember her (and that's not unusual at Catholic schools; two kids died while I was in high school, and there was official, very heartfelt mourning).
I don't even remember the girl very much, except for this: When my mom, after hearing the news, asked if I knew her, I related the only interaction I had witnessed. She was in my reading group, and in one of the first classes as we got our textbooks, the teacher asked a question, and the girl replied, a little snottily, something to the effect of "I sure could answer if I had a book" because she inadvertently didn't get one when they were passed out. Telling my mom this, I probably sounded callous (and I think my mom was a little shocked I was speaking ill of the girl) , but I wasn't trying to be. She was the new girl, and she unfortunately wasn't there long enough for many of us to form much of an opinion. My response was simply matter-of-fact then, just as it is while typing this now.
Soon, she seemed to be out of our collective memory. At graduation a couple years later, there was no mention of her. Sixth grade continued, and again, it was the most fun year many of us had despite the tragedy. The city put up a ridiculously placed stop sign where she got hit, but that got taken down once the busier intersections around school finally got traffic lights.
I'm not saying her death blocked out everything from my memory of that fall. It simply didn't affect me enough to do so. As I grew up, I would learn of classmates' and acquaintances' tragic deaths and feel more numb than I did in 1981. And I'm, well, not glad, but perhaps comforted by the fact I didn't forget that a classmate 30 years ago tragically, suddenly died, because such terrible events shouldn't be forgotten. I only wish that wasn't my only clear memory from those two months.
I already blogged about the memorable summer of 1981. That post got me thinking about the fall that followed, and this, given my abnormal memory, is what distresses me: I remember almost nothing from September and October 1981.
I know I started sixth grade in Mrs. Lynch's class, but can't picture specific moments from that beginning.
I know some of the music from that fall, but much of it was held over from the summer. Indeed, my spring/summer 1981 playlist (yes, I make playlists specific to years and seasons) is comprised of 84 songs, while my fall 1981 mix is only 39 songs. Many of the songs on the fall playlist tie me to memories after October or were songs I encountered years after 1981 that I just added to the mix because it was the proper time frame. The few songs that should be September/October 1981 songs (e.g., "Let's Groove," "Private Eyes" or "Urgent") don't take me back, even just a little.
I'm sure I did typical fall things in those two months, but I can't recall any of it. I know I saw a Monday night Bears game, but when I looked it up, they didn't play the team that, for three decades, I thought they played. I knew my memory had lost that Halloween, but I was surprised to realize it lost the entire two months. The funny thing is, I remember so much about the rest of sixth grade. I got an Atari 2600 for my birthday in early November. I remember what games I got for that Atari that Christmas. I remember playing basketball and who my teammates were that winter, and going on vacation to Florida. I remember starting baseball the following spring and the field trips our grade took. I remember the fuzzy-head pencil I owned, and the comic I drew in art class based on that pencil (which, by the way, was a Jay's potato chips pencil; do those still exist in Chicago?). I could rattle off every Number One song, every video game I discovered, every book I read, and plenty of moments from what was perhaps the most fun grade from my K-8 years. So why am I missing these two months.
If I went through the entire 1980s, I bet I couldn't come up with a two-month span where I couldn't come up with one random recollected moment. But finally, I did remember something from the fall of 1981: a girl in our grade died.
Our grade took a field trip to the Morton Arboretum in suburban Chicago. My mom chaperoned that field trip -- it might have been the only one of my field trips that either parent chaperoned. I don't remember much from the actual field trip -- an arboretum for sixth-graders probably was a little boring. We weren't supposed to have food in the arboretum, but I do remember my mom pointing out to me that two girls were sneaking cookies to each other under the guise of a whispered messages (one girl put her hand to the other girl's ear, and the other girl put her hand to same ear to "hear better" but really take the cookie). And that was it.
The next day, we learned what happened after school. A girl who had just transferred to our school and grade that fall tried crossing one of the nearby busy streets (nowhere near the crossing guard), tried turning back and got hit by a bus. She lasted a few days before succumbing to her injuries.
Continuing the lack-of-memory theme, I don't remember being sad this happened. Maybe a little stunned, but kind of resigned to the tragedy. I don't remember if any of my classmates were sad. It was early in the year and she was the new girl -- did she make any friends who would have been sobbing over the fact she died? I think her homeroom teacher was in her first year teaching -- how terrible that must have been for her: You start your career with a dead student. I don't remember if our class went to the funeral, or if the school held was a memorial mass for students to remember her (and that's not unusual at Catholic schools; two kids died while I was in high school, and there was official, very heartfelt mourning).
I don't even remember the girl very much, except for this: When my mom, after hearing the news, asked if I knew her, I related the only interaction I had witnessed. She was in my reading group, and in one of the first classes as we got our textbooks, the teacher asked a question, and the girl replied, a little snottily, something to the effect of "I sure could answer if I had a book" because she inadvertently didn't get one when they were passed out. Telling my mom this, I probably sounded callous (and I think my mom was a little shocked I was speaking ill of the girl) , but I wasn't trying to be. She was the new girl, and she unfortunately wasn't there long enough for many of us to form much of an opinion. My response was simply matter-of-fact then, just as it is while typing this now.
Soon, she seemed to be out of our collective memory. At graduation a couple years later, there was no mention of her. Sixth grade continued, and again, it was the most fun year many of us had despite the tragedy. The city put up a ridiculously placed stop sign where she got hit, but that got taken down once the busier intersections around school finally got traffic lights.
I'm not saying her death blocked out everything from my memory of that fall. It simply didn't affect me enough to do so. As I grew up, I would learn of classmates' and acquaintances' tragic deaths and feel more numb than I did in 1981. And I'm, well, not glad, but perhaps comforted by the fact I didn't forget that a classmate 30 years ago tragically, suddenly died, because such terrible events shouldn't be forgotten. I only wish that wasn't my only clear memory from those two months.
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