Long bus rides, especially in the darkness of a winter morning, can't help but evoke thoughts and memories. Looking out a window, with frosted edges, at the world, the mind is sparked by a face, a little familiar; a scene, somehow new yet still remembered. This happened this morning on my ride in to work. It should be that the sun is up a little earlier, being well past the solstice, but we’ve had a lazy sun this year. It struggles, like the rest of us, to rise in the morning. The traffic had been terrible and my driver was doing a great job of finding new ways to get to old places. Thus I took a route I’ve seldom travelled.
Along one particularly long stretch of road we passed a large school and then an equally large sports field. Goal posts, one at either end, were the only thing that broke the bright white of the snow which covered the ground. My mind said, in a gentle whisper, ‘Rockets’. Suddenly, I was back.
Decades ago, in another century, I attended Elementary school in a small British Columbia town. Upon registering we were assigned to one of three teams: the Eagles; the Rockets or the Hawks. When it came to sports days or track meets, you were automatically a member of one of those three teams. Any ribbons you won would be counted towards the team total to determine which team was the one that took the day. I was a Rocket, my brother was an Eagle.
Traditionally the Eagles carried the day. Occasionally the Rockets. Almost never the Hawks. The bus may now have been driving through the most fantastic of landscapes, but I saw nothing. I was deep in memory. I can picture, still, the logos for each of the three teams. The jaunty angle at which the Rocket took off, red against a white background, was pleasing and, somehow, hopeful.
I remember being glad that I wasn’t a Hawk while being envious that my brother was an Eagle and desperately worrying that the other ‘Rockets’ would not notice that I never, ever, won at a sporting event. I know one teacher did notice, she was one of the teachers assigned to the Rockets. Once, I fumbled something so badly that I prevented another Rocket from winning what should have been a sure first place ribbon. Her face nearly exploded with anger. Whenever I hear that song, I can’t remember the name, that has the line ‘the rocket’s red glare’ I think of the look on her face that day.
Anyways. Counter to all expectations, including my own, I did win a ribbon once. I don’t remember if it was first or second or third. I do remember that it was green with gold printing. My guess is that was a ‘silver’ performance. Oddly, I remember nothing other than the ribbon in my hand. I don’t remember winning it, I don’t remember what it was for, I don’t remember pats on the back or an internal sense of accomplishment.
All I remember is the silly little ribbon.
I sat on the bus and struggled and struggled to remember. Those readers as old as I am know that when you are trying to remember that far back, there’s lots of debris to get out of the way. I pushed by my university days, moved the big, big, boxes that come with the high school years, and finally arrived at the hallways of elementary school. I could remember various teachers, how young they look now. I could remember the smell of the cloak room, I could remember the stage on which the Christmas pageant was performed. But I could not remember that moment of victory.
Oddly, I could find, amidst the rubble there in the dark cellar of memory, all sorts of memories of hurt and pain and embarrassment and loneliness. Exact memories. Memories that hadn’t been visited in a long time but were still, oddly, dusted and clean. Still waiting to be recalled. Still fresh. It surprised me how these seemed to lay in wait. But, where was the memory, and it must have been a good one, of the day I won the ribbon? I looked everywhere, but it wasn't there to be found. It hadn't been packaged and wrapped.
I wonder why it is that my mind is, and are any of you are the same, so quick with memories of shame but less agile with memories of other, prouder, moments. Moments, that like now, would cheer a winter day. Nearing work, I gave up on the search and closed my eyes. I pictured my hand, a smaller hand than the one I know now, holding that ribbon. A ribbon that looked so big and so clean. I could see the gold print but could not read the words on it. But, it didn’t matter.
I had the ribbon.
And that was enough.
"the rockets' red glare" is from the U.S. national anthem!
that kind of stuff sticks with you, though, eh? the sense that you aren't a winner or aren't contributing to the team?
Anon, I am guessing that Dave was joking when he said he didn't know that song. Dave am I right? I am the same way with memories. Negatives are easier to develop!
How ironic. On my way to work this morning, I was running late and on the radio came Pink's song, F****** perfect. I can never get all the way through the son, it always make me cry. Seems silly but I completely understand, I think we may have been taking the same ride down memory lane this morning. Hope your day leaves only positive boxes "in storage".
Sorry for being off topic. I have a lot to say on this topic, especially considering that my 13 year old brother called me this morning to talk about his emotionally abusive gym teacher, but I'm too mixed up to find the right words right now.
Anyway, there's a case you might be interested in. A gay man with an IQ of 48 has been forbidden from having sex with his lover because he's considered too low-functioning to consent. Reference:
"That song, can't remember the name"....heh heh.
Makes me feel sad thinking of that little boy. I look at young boys and girls now and think 'how could i have expected so much of myself when I was just that small and that young and knew so little about anything'.
I wish I could live by the 'count only the sunny days' sundial motto but unfortunately it is the memories of shame that are the most vivid in my memory too.
Shame, embarrassment and intentional/unintentional cruelty, they scar the deepest.
Yesterday I was trying to remember who was at a sleep-over I went to as a teenager, it was a great night but somehow these things don't stick, on the other hand I can remember all the boys who dismissed me out of hand at my 5th year prom (aged 16, I'm in the UK so I don't know how that translates over there!).
Crazy things brains, mine was odd even before my head injury lol
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