I have a lot of memories of my sons growing up. One of my favorites is when there was a chore that the younger one thought he could get out of, so he tried to get my older son, who has high functioning autism, to do it. The older son declined, so my younger son offered to play, “Rock, Paper, Scissors” to see who would do the chore. They stood with fist in hand as they counted 1, 2, 3! The younger son slapped his top hand flat on the palm of his other hand. The older sticks an inverted peace sign onto his palm. “What’s that?!” the younger exclaimed. “Chuck Norris” the Older declared, “He beats anything!” While that was hysterical and made me laugh, it was the look on my younger son’s face that made the memory so much more choice. He kinda stuck his tongue in his cheek and nodded that he had been beaten, giving props to the creativity and logic that older brother used. He accepted the chore and being outwitted. It makes me love them both for different reasons.
I remember my wedding day. My wife and I were married in a church in Las Vegas and the reception was at a casino event room. While I was 25 at the time, I was not knowledgeable about weddings and receptions. Others were more knowledgeable and that helped things go off without a hitch – until the reception was over and my wife took off her high heels that were hurting her feet.
I didn’t have the foresight to use valet parking, and so we had to walk out into the parking lot onto the hot, but shaded asphalt, up the ramp a fair distance to where I had parked the car. When we got in, I looked down at the blackened, tattered stockings on my wife’s feet and then saw the look on her face. She was not very happy with my choice. 32 years later, I am still married to this wonderful woman, and I think how great it is that she has stuck by me all these years. This favorite memory, while embarrassing, attests to her love for me.
The last memory I’d like to share is when I was living in Lakewood, California and was eager to get back to Utah for the deer hunt. I loaded up my maroon-colored Jeep Cherokee with all my gear and headed toward Utah. Just before Barstow, a fan belt broke. ‘Great!’ I said, sarcastically in my mind.
I locked the Jeep up and started walking several miles to Barstow. I walked with my arm held out and my thumb up. All kinds of cars passed me. New cars, old cars, big cars, little cars, shiny cars. Most of them had one thing in common: an empty passenger seat. Even so, they just kept passing me by. No one stopped, so I just walked.
After 15 – 20 minutes, a little, old, orange, Ford Fiesta pulled onto the shoulder ahead of me. As I walked up, I saw it was a young Hispanic family. Parents in the front seats and two kids in the back seat. The passenger window rolled down and the dad spoke to me in Spanish. My Spanish is poor, but the hand gestures got the message back and forth. Did I need a ride? Yes.
The Mom squeezed between the seats to sit with the children to make room for me. They took me to the next off ramp and there was an auto repair shop right there. As I got out of the car, I thanked them profusely, with a ‘Mucho, muchas gracias!’ (Lots of emphasis on the mucho). They smiled and we waved goodbye. At the repair shop I got the belt and the help I needed. But this memory is a cherished one because when I needed help, this young family in a little, old, car made room for me and helped me out. The kindness of strangers.
Why do I tell you about these memories? We all have memories of good, bad, funny, sad, and embarrassing things that have happened to us. I’m thankful for my memories. The good times, the good people in bad times, and good journeys that I’ve experienced. It seems that there is always a “good” component to find in our memories. Maybe this month, you can share some of your favorite memories with people you care about. Maybe they will share some of their favorite memories as well. And maybe we’ll all be a little more grateful for the people and the experiences that we have had in our lives.
