Memories

In March, I wrote Memories = Music = Memories, which went a little something like this:

Memories are my enemy. I run from them. The distance mounts and concurrently so does the deadness. A prayer begs "take away my memories!" The embarrassments, betrayals, failures, and utter disgust drag me here. Memory formerly held color, shades, inflections, tones, heights, depths, sadness, ecstacy; a broad palate. Years of repression usher in haziness, blandness, blackouts.

Memories = Music = Memories.

Ears hear.

Memories pulse.

Heart beats.

Life blooms.

The forgotten brought to life by a guitar, a cymbal crash, a lyric.

Popular band, cool band? Yes, no, who cares...memories...call.

Memories are my friend. I run to them. They run to me. A prayer screams "bring them all back to me!" Deadness dies. Hope flies. I rise."

I used to pray for my memories to disappear, out of disgust, shame, or embarrassment regarding who I was, what I did, or who I hurt.  Several years of softening have reminded me that memories are my friend and not vicious enemies, even if the memory isn’t always pretty, which leads me to some “moments I want to remember.”

I want to remember…
…the sight of Wyatt standing up in his crib when we walk through the door.

…the 3 person family hug with Bethany, Wyatt, and I when we are dancing to “Party in the USA” (don’t worry, I listened to Megadeth's Reckoning Day today to offset the Miley effect on my masculinity).

…conversations with the Kurz’s at ole' "222" on the deck.  Hookah!

…vacation breakfasts with the Johnson’s in Phoenix and the notorious Bethany vs. Allison free for all which almost drew blood.

…how Wyatt smells as a baby…aside from the poop smell of course!

…the faces Wyatt makes, and the sounds that accompany them.

…Wyatt grabbing my guitar when I’m trying to play.

…every monumental night of celebration out with Bethany and why they are monumental.

…the details of our time of struggle in getting pregnant and the excitement of finding out we were pregnant.

…being a part of our friend’s weddings (Chris and Libby, Todd and Jen, Shaun and Rachel, Dave and Sarah, Frank and Michelle, Jon and Vanessa, and more!)

...Jon's hilarious running a lap around my apartment.

…the places I’ve lived and the people I met, and what we experienced together.

…the G3 concert with Matt Shaw...and the excitement and demoralizing effect of watching other guitar players who are way better than you.

…playing records in my bedroom between the ages of 11-13…REO Speedwagon’s Hi Infidelity, Styx’s Paradise Theatre, Def Leppard’s High ‘n Dry, Van Halen’s Diver Down, Foreigner 4, Rick Springfield’s Working Class Dog, Queen’s Greatest Hits (especially Another One Bites the Dust played backwards), AC/DC’s For Those About to Rock, Rush’s Moving Pictures, Asia’s self-titled debut, and Journey’s Escape just to name a few.

…playing catch with my Dad until the sun went down and playing basketball in the basement on the 5 foot rim.

…playing basketball in the snow with Steve Booker until our hands went numb and the ball wouldn’t bounce anymore; at least not until we heated the ball back under the hot water of the kitchen sink.

…swimming at my “little sister” Tara’s house growing up…and the sign that said “We don’t pee in your drink, please don’t pee in our pool.”

…trips to the Ozarks with my family and the Ragsdale’s, Martin’s, and Webber’s, and riding in the IMP brand boat my Dad owned…oh, can’t forget the pyramid on water ski’s they did either.

…learning how to water ski at age 7 and how to slalom at 10...I felt cool.

…being at the Casselberry’s when the Twin Towers fell on 9/11, and that there were real people inside those buildings…and I was watching it with very real friends.

…the west coast trip with my family, and the last trip we took with my Grandpa Cabell before he died…playing tennis on a tennis court that was still covered with ash from Mt. St. Helen’s eruption from a year earlier.

…how nervous I was before my first kiss.

…what it felt like to play sports as a kid before I rested my identity on it.

…how it felt to be a team’s MVP, especially when you didn’t believe you should be the MVP and everyone else did.

…how I felt when I heard Def Leppard’s drummer Rick Allen lost his arm in a car accident.

…how much I laughed when Jared Berg would make milk come out of his nose.

…the sadness of doing another “one thing I would never, ever do.”

…the excitement of the day an album from your favorite band is released…and the torture of waiting for it.

…the transition from records to tapes to CD’s to…God help us...digital music.

…feelings…of excitement, of pain, of sadness, of hopefulness, of confusion, of every possible kind.

…the moments where God felt distant.

…the moments where God felt close.

…the first time I heard the opening notes of Rush’s “Limelight”…and how cool it sounded when the drums came in.

…conversations with Dr. Ray about God, sports, and books.

…how dead legalism makes me feel…and how alive grace makes me feel.

…how much fun our 1986 soccer season was…19-3 baby!

…how frustrating my 1987-88 basketball season was…recovering from a broken arm and a 3-22 record.

…meeting Vivian Campbell of Def Leppard at The Baked Potato in L.A.

…Elly calling Wyatt “Baby Poopy.”

…seeing Wyatt for the first time.

…anytime Bethany and I share tears together…or hysterical laughing…they are both awesome.

…the smell of our brand of coffee in the morning.

…the sounds of Wyatt through the baby monitor.

…how much relief I felt in my chest when I finally believed my birth mom gave me life.

…how sweet the sound of Amazing Grace is on Easter morning.

…listening to the “Little Drummer Boy” on my parents stereo as a little boy.

…having a peeing contest at age 4 with my best friend against the side of our house and our neighbor catching us.

…cliché’s are cliché’s for a reason…

…the confusion I felt as I drove around country roads at night with my light’s off at 80mph.

…the sound of “monster in the glove compartment” of my first car.

…all the memories of my best friend Mike from high school and college…and being amazed we are still alive.  Mercy is plentiful, especially on a sinking boat.

…what it felt like to be arrested, and how I hope it never, never happens again!

…funny conversations that occur during personal training (during the rest periods of course).

…the time my little, 5’5” 135 lb. brother David punched me in the nose.

…watching my 89 year old Grandmother recovering from a broken hip pull herself up and across my Granddad’s casket to kiss him goodbye.

…that there are more memories to be remembered and someday written...and there is almost always a song tied to them.