Real Memories vs. Virtual Memories.

I grew up in a little town called Rialto. Just the three of us, me and mom and dad. I have so many vivid memories from those days. Real memories from real experiences.

When I was 10, a big avocado tree stood in the front yard. I loved to sit high in those smooth branches, read and think and, on windy days, feel the whole world move.

If the wind was really gusting, we’d drag tumble weeds to one end of the street, turn them loose, and race them down the block. Sometimes the wind was so strong we could lean into its buffeting arms, held up by the breath of the spinning earth.

When the wind dropped us onto the warm grass, we rolled onto our backs and stared up at so much blue we couldn’t move. 10-year-olds spellbound by nothing but the sky.

Am I the only one with these kinds of memories?

Collecting blue belly lizards from the sunny library wall; racing stick-and-leaf boats down rain-rushing gutters; trying to catch red autumn leaves before they touched the ground; carrying one precious quarter like a pilgrimage to the bowling alley arcade; spending all afternoon flying, losing and finding kites made from the Sunday comics; riding our bikes round and round the same residential streets, slipping into a meditative stillness long before I knew what meditation was; camping in the backyard with just a sleeping bag, searching so long for constellations that the moon crossed half the sky before I fell asleep.

These memories sound like clichés now. But only a great truth can become a cliché, and my childhood feels like a great truth—though not knowing exactly what that truth means does diminish the satisfaction a bit.

I hope my son, with all his technology and social media, with all the libraries of knowledge at his fingertips—I hope his memories are as rich. I hope his virtual experiences carry the same heft as my physical ones. When he’s my age, I hope clicking and watching will be as real to him as touching and seeing were to me.
I doubt it, but it’s a father’s nature to hope.

​Of course, that’s a cliché, too.

Comments

Media Jean: No offense, but your dad’s memories do sound like Hallmark Cards. Sheesh.

Chip: He doesn’t come right out and say it, but I think he feels his memories are better than our memories.

Media Jean: I wonder if parents have always been that way.

Chip: You mean, throughout history?

Media Jean: Yeah! Like during the Industrial Revolution. Did dads walk around saying, “When I was a kid, we grew our own food. We sewed our own clothes. Those were good memories! What’re you going to remember when you’re my age? Factories and machines!”

Chip: Ha ha! I bet that’s exactly what they said!

Media Jean: We spend a lot of time doing things virtually, but that doesn’t mean our experiences and memories are less real.

Chip: According to the latest brain research, everything is virtual anyway.

Media Jean: What do you mean?

Chip: Our brains convert data into images and sensations. Things don’t exist literally the way we experience them. Our brains create a simulation so we can interact with the information. I mean, a rose isn’t red just because roses are red. A rose is red because of the way light in the red spectrum bounces off the rose and is interpreted by our eyes.

Media Jean: So everything is virtual!

Chip: In a way. Especially memories. All my dad’s “real” memories are just bits of information stored in his brain, kind of like a text file or photo is stored on the internet.

Media Jean: I love that!

Chip: When he accesses a memory, it’s like accessing a web site. He’s retrieving information.

Media Jean: That puts everything he said into a whole new context.

Chip: What context?

Media Jean: The “You’re Wrong” context!

Chip: Maybe we can keep this one to ourselves.

Media Jean: I don’t know. It goes against my deepest beliefs to let a grown-up off the hook.

Chip: I know, but my dad is so overwhelmed already.

Media Jean: OK. For you, I’ll give him a pass.

Chip: Thanks.

Media Jean: Heck, I’d give him a pass anyway. Your dad can be annoying with all his “those were the days” sermons, but he’s never mean about it. He’s as sincere as Charlie Brown.

Chip: He calls himself, “The Charlie Brown of the Google Age.”

Media Jean: Ha ha! See? He knows he’s fighting a losing battle, but he still has a sense of humor about it. I love your dad.

Chip: Me too.

​​Comic strip from the series "So-Duh"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!)

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