Remembering Who I was and Who I Am Now
Is the memory of my first recollection real or from pictures and stories? Many things that I claim to remember from my past are denied by others who say that I could not possibly remember back that far. In the chapter "Analogies in Sense Perception," Keller writes, "Mention a rose too far away for me to smell it. Straightway a scent steals into my nostril" (219). Does this help explain then why is it that when I see a picture of my great-grandmother in a rocking chair I can smell the scents and feel the presence of having been there. It is as if all memories in our minds are filed away with smells, colors and feelings. If memories consisted of only an image they would fade faster than a photograph. Most of my memories involve a feeling, a scent, or a color which seems to be the validation that I need to know they are real. (I’ve read that scents are the most powerful memory)
Another of my early memories occurs when my mother found me on the street covered in tar from the fresh tar that was being laid that day. It was Saturday and she had spent all morning washing and tightly rolling three little girls’ hair in the rubber rollers that pulled my hair and made me squint eyed. This memory includes the smell of the tar, the pain and agony of my hair being curled, the severe spanking that I received and the de-tarring of my body from head to toe. The smell of tar always brings up this memory. The memories that I have from my early childhood are the memories of times that were packed with pain, joy, colors and smells. If I talk about these memories, a hear chuckles from the disbelievers, gasps from the participants and total avoidance by those who really don’t care. But if anyone were to ask me, they are real memories.
The one memory that simply amazes me and tells me that I had to be very young is the memory of riding in the back window of the car. My sisters would not want me riding between them so I was forced to sleep and try to have fun on road trips riding in the back window. This was very uncomfortable and does not lend itself to a very fun memory. My brother was not born yet, so I was still the back window rider. When he was born, I was promoted to a seat rider and he got the back window. Memories like this are not thought about too often.
Another memory that I remember is a pink gingham dress that had 100 (or so it seemed) tiny buttons down the back and it was the one that I loved to wear. I couldn’t see the buttons so I had to feel them and work to get them through the button holes. In the chapter "The Seeing Hand," Keller writes, "The hand is my feeler with which I reach through isolation and darkness and seize every pleasure, every activity that my fingers encounter" (212). Keller refers to her hands as her eyes. My two older sisters always seemed to disappear when I needed help buttoning the dress up so my hands had to become my eyes. I would reach and stretch, stand on my head, roll on the floor just to get this dress buttoned up. I never gave up until the day it wouldn’t button up anymore as I had outgrown the dress.
The memories of who I was have formed who I am today. The memories keep me alive and let me know where I came from. Some memories I intentionally avoid because the feeling is bad, the smell not good, the colors dark. These memories are a vital part of who I am today. They are just the memories that I do not talk about or dwell on.
Works Cited
Keller, Helen. From The World I Live In. Cultural Conversations. Stephen Dilks, Regina Hansen and Matthew Parfitt. eds. New York: Bedford St. Martin's , 2001. 212-221.
