Things I remember . . . and don’t
I remember Baby Jessica, the little girl stuck down the well (now twenty years ago, a quick Google search informs me). I would have been seven at the time, and–my idea of wells being limited only to the wishing variety–was puzzled as to why they didn’t just throw a rope down to her. Interestingly, my memories of this event are mediated: I recall more clearly watching the Baby Jessica TV movie in latchkey than seeing any actual news coverage of it. In the movie, Jessica was called by a favorite nickname, "Juicy," and was kept from dehydration by being given juice boxes.
I don’t remember the Challenger explosion, but I do remember the Punky Brewster episode about the shuttle disaster. Punky’s class watched the shuttle mission in school, and the shuttle exploded. Punky came home in tears. Later in the series, the show confronted such topical issues as Punky’s move into adolesence and the dangers of feeding peanut butter to a dog. My mother insists that I came home from school in tears as well; I don’t remember that either. I do remember talking about the explosion in class; I remember particularly that we tried to conjecture what might have caused the explosion. In first grade.
I remember the 1988 presidential election, and, in particular, a terrifying secret revealed to me about the Republican political agenda. A schoolmate, whose mother was a latchkey mom and apparently a staunch Democrat, told me that, if elected, the Bush administration would enforce a mandatory execution policy on all citizens 65 or older. (That’s one way to cut down on the Social Security roll, I grant you.) This news horrfied me–I was then a Republican thanks to Alex P. Keaton–and asked my mother if it were true. I was particularly scared for the safety of my grandfather. Bush was elected, but this particular plan was never mobilized.
I don’t remember the first time I heard the Beatles, but I remember telling my mother that insects couldn’t be in a band. Such a joker.
I remember the first time I fell for a girl. Her name was Jennifer Clark and she lived one floor up in my apartment building. At 7, we pledged our unyielding love to one another (it yielded when she moved away the next year). Although captivated by her winsome charms, she completely freaked me out one spring day by squishing her toes through a fresh mud patch.
I don’t remember what she looked like.
I remember having a bad bout of the flu and my mother and aunt doing their best to help me over it. I was sick on a weekend and I remember, since I spent time in and out of sleep, losing track of what day it was. My aunt tried to rouse my spirits by letting me watch Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, but in my debilitated condition, even that rare treat afforded me little pleasure. I fell asleep before anyone said the Word of the Day.
I don’t remember having the chicken pox, but I am told that my case was either mild or severe. When Jennifer had the chicken pox, she stayed with my family during the day while her parents worked. Either it was little risk because of the severity of my infection several years earlier or there was some risk due to my mild infection. Jennifer had pox on the inside of her mouth, and eating was difficult for her.
I remember my pet rabbit, Bugs, who was purchased one year at the State Fair. I wanted to name him Ripley; at the time I was a huge fan of the show Ripley’s Believe It … Or Not! One of the adult’s in my family–I don’t remember who–told me that a rabbit couldn’t remember a name like Ripley. So, choosing a name more appropriate to a member of the Leporidae family, we settled on Bugs. Bugs liked green beans and Froot Loops. I blamed him for chewing a hole in my inflatable Dukes of Hazzard car, but, in truth, I punctured it with the end of my comb. When the apartment management changed, we had to give Bugs away to this guy who worked with my mother. His name was Mike Chielmicki, and he loved Dirty Harry movies.
I don’t remember any specifics of the many fish I’ve owned, but really, how memorable are fish? I’ve owned goldfish and betas. I do remember naming a fish after Columbus once, though. Columbus also gave a cat his middle name: Motley Christopher McGinnis. Motley was put to sleep two weeks ago. Goodbye, Motley.
