For a two year old, James seems to have quite a memory.
He hasn't seen his (GREAT) Aunt Mandy in a year,
but he can still tell you just how she says his name (she does say it like no one else).
So, I wonder what will he remember and what will seem familiar about Lake Rabun (famous site of
Two Boats) when we make our way their tomorrow -- James, Maya, and Ashley by plane, me and
Scout the Dog by car.
But I think of my own memories
and besides the pictures
and the few sacred stories that survive from my early, early days,
and it seems to me the boundaries of memories that stick into adulthood begin at 5-ish, maybe 4,
and even those are few and far between and very, very fuzzy.
There is something about that I have been trying to get a handle on,
something a little jarring -- which is not quite the right word.
Even though we read and are believers in the importance and value of these formative early years,
where identity and cognition and bonding and trust and love and I don't know what I'm talking about but a LOT takes shape -- something about the "brain architecture" I think --
Because as vivid and rich and full as each day with them is...
and even though James and Maya will have so much more than we did,
way, way, WAY more (digital) pictures
the videos
these stories
(and THE BOOK...
coming soon),
they will have so very few actual memories of these days.
Will they even have memories of these days?
I don't know if sad is exactly the right word to describe how I feel thinking about it.
But it's a little sad.
Just life, I guess.
And as James' great grandmother would say...
"Isn't that something."
Posts
