LUCKY GARVIN: The Lost Memory

Lucky Garvin
Lucky Garvin

When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it happened or not. But as I continue along the span of my years, I find myself more and more often displaying a memory glitch.

It is actually quite common. Called a Senior Moment, it of course describes the momentary loss of someone’s name, a face, or an event. When this happens – if I may lean for a moment on metaphor – the blue light of my Memory Search comes on, at which point I may or may not reclaim the misplaced fact.

But in the last several months, I have noticed a most peculiar phenomenon: My blue light goes on without me asking it to. It comes on by itself, looking for something. So imagine my interest: most times I go in search of a memory; now, an old memory is in search of me.

I watch a lot of news in this most historic era in America’s life, and it has been while I watch the news that I become aware of the humming, the blue light.

It was most noticeable when I watched a pro-football player “take a knee” during the national anthem. This “act of defiance” soon spread to other teams, then college ball, then high school, and finally Pony League baseball. I feel all these youngsters are long on drama and short on information.

But what was this memory which so persistently sought me out? Finally, I remembered…

I was eight-years-old. I sat in a lighted theater with my father waiting for the movie to begin. In those days, the National Anthem was played before the main event. In the times of my childhood, allegiance to and love of country were unabashedly shared by all.

The lights drew down; the anthem began to play. I stared at the flag. Suddenly, I heard some sniggering, and I sensed that Dad was now standing beside me, his hand over his heart.

The audience pointed and giggled; he heard; he did not care. I looked at them, a theater full of muffled mockery… people laughing at my father.

I looked up at him, impassive and alone, standing at respectful attention. He cared not at all about the scorn all around him. In that moment, he did what should be done. Doing the right thing may have nothing whatever to do with consensus or popularity – that, I had learned from him. Now it was Dad’s turn to put up or shut up.

He put up.

He never looked at me and yet I knew. The choice was mine to make. Slowly I slid to my feet and uncertainly placed my hand over my heart, myself now the object of muffled jeers.

And in that darkened theater, a thousand years ago it seems, a small boy stood with his father; a small boy learned by his father’s example.

Not one word spoken.

Whatever part of me serves as archivist to the happenings of my days, felt this was a moment worth saving, worth pressing between the pages of memory.

The blue light is off – for now.

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