Memories for my children and ones that I can’t remember

To be clear, by ‘ones that I can’t remember’ I mean memories, and not children that I’ve forgotten.    My wife used to make fun of me because I don’t remember anything about my childhood.  She is like an elephant in the fact that she remembers tiny details about her life when she was a kid.  The places they’d visit, favorite meals, conversations, holiday traditions-you name it she can probably recall it.

I, on the other hand remember very little before my senior year of high school. My childhood wasn’t traumatic or full of problems; I just don’t remember the details.  When we first got married she would ask me “Do you remember….” and after countless times of me not remembering she has stopped asking.

If it weren’t intentional then that would be an awesome way to avoid conversation.  Whenever my wife slips up and starts a sentence with “Do you remember” it’s actually a cue for me to ask her details about something memorable.  With any luck on my part the phone will ring before I have the opportunity to pose these deep minded queries.

I mention this because for the past 20+ years I’ve kept a journal.  When guys keep a journal it’s a journal.  Ladies, you may keep a diary, journal or simply use the elephant like ability to recall stories from 25 years ago when you were 12 years old*.

I don’t know why I started keeping a journal, but I’m glad that I did.  I’ve been through five of them, all different and most of them are tattered and quite ratty. The different color ink, bizarre writings and things that I put in there immediately take me back to the day that I wrote them down.  Since I’ve started the blog the journal has taken a back seat, but I’ve recently started writing in it again semi-regularly.

Some days I’ll go to Toddler Mojo’s preschool early so I can watch them play on the playground.  If your child actually sees you watching them, then they’ll stop playing.  The trick is to park just a couple rows back so you can see the playground but your little guy can’t see you.

There are a couple other parents that arrive early too, all so we can watch our kids.  They won’t remember the Sports Days or the way they flail their arms and run in circles.  OK, neither of those are particularly memorable, but the way he acts now will change a little bit as he gets older and I want to document it.

The journal is mine, but it’s all about the family.  The trips we go on, wacky things we do or the funny things my wife says.  I don’t know if my children will have as abysmal a memory as I have; but one day I want them know about my wife and I as people and not just Mom and Dad.

The photos we take remind us of the trips and a photo is worth a thousand words.  Having said that, there’s something about the time it takes to put pen to paper and write about your family that makes it a keepsake for generations to come.

Do you keep a journal?  Does it matter if it’s a journal or a diary?

 

*Note, note my wife’s real age.  Any similarity to girls that grew up in the 80’s with shoulder pads and poufy hair is a coincidence.