September 25, 2015 — Leave a comment

Memories. We all have memories, some good some bad, some fun some dull, some great some small, some heavy some lite, and some happy some sad. Some folks have terrifying memories and that is why I think my dad would never talk about his experiences in WWII. I really miss not knowing what he did and where he went and the records of his service have been destroyed so I will never know. My father’s memories are gone forever.

I have many memories that I have written about, my own memories and memories of stories told to me by Grandparents and Aunts and Uncles. Family histories if you will not just genealogical entries. When I begin searching my memory for something worth telling I  always search my mind as hard as I can, and that generally doesn’t take long, asking myself, “Self is this really a memory or is it what I  remember because I was told about an occurrence.

I remember the names of all my grade school teachers but not so many of my middle and high school teachers probably because I was with the grade school teachers all day every day.  I don’t remember very much about the day to day happenings but I do remember a few things that helped shape my thinking as I matured a little. One of these was in the second grade. My teacher was Miss Sharkey and her mother died early in the year and she did not return to class. We learned later she had what we called a “nervous breakdown” but what we would now call chronic depression. The substitute teacher Mrs. Adams, not to be confused with the third grade Miss Adams also known as Miss Atom bomb, became our permanent teacher.

It had snowed one weekend, four or five inches if I remember right, and on Monday one of my class mates, a girl I think, ask Mrs. Adams if it really snowed more years ago like her grandmother says. The answer given that morning has stuck in my brain ever since. Mrs. Adams replied that probably it doesn’t snow any more or less this year than any other year but, we tend to only remember the days it snowed, especially the really big snows that happen now and then.  We don’t remember the drab dreary cold nasty days of winter that are always between the snow days. We just remember those days/things that make us feel good. Good memories stick with us forever and a few bad ones too but by and large the good memories seem to count the most.

Like I said earlier, when I start to write about my memories I always ask myself, “self is this really a memory or is it what you want to believe you remember.” Hopefully I am able to keep the memories sorted out in the correct order and exactly like they happened.

Good memories make us feel better on bad days and bad memories help us understand that we are all just humans. My wish is that you all have fond memories and that they always make you feel good!

Thanks for listening.

Richard Isley

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