My sister gave me a lovely birthday gift last year, the gift of memories. She knows my memory banks are pretty much empty with all that I’ve had to hold in there these many years…

Garbage in, garbage out.

I used to have an excellent one, but somewhere in my late thirties, I lost it. Must have been that fifth child of mine. I knew it…

Anyway, she sent me a list of memories from our childhood; ones that I had completely tossed away to make room for immediate things like baby sitter’s phone numbers and piano lesson times. I marvel at her mind-sharp like a tack and mine so withered and worn.

Funny memories like…

” I remember your Doodle art ( now it’s popular again) and you always knew if I coloured in the smallest section-even the smallest of corners and you’d punch me in the arm for ruining your art.”

Dear reader…She’s lying! Punch her? Never!

Ones from the 70’s…

” I recall your winter hat with the fur balls at the end like long ropes. Bell bottoms, Earth shoes, overalls, baby doll pyjamas, clackers and foot long popsicles that had flavour! Toe socks, watching Ed Sullivan, Jackie Gleason, and the Mod Squad. Mood rings, pixie cuts, wine skins, skies with straps, dippity-doo, dad’s Bryl creme and American Bandstand.”

I hadn’t thought of clackers in years!

More…

“TV’s without remotes, dial phones, letters in the mail, pedal pushers, playing in the dugout, getting locked in the cupboard, our skating rink, riding horses at the farm, red plaid kilts and snow forts.”

She went on with more and happily most of these came rushing back in, painting a smile on my face each time I read the list.

I read them aloud to my own kids who stared at me blankly. They just can’t appreciate  the majority of these ( no remote? seriously? How did you turn the channel they wonder..?), so they nod politely and think “Man, she’s old!”

Thank goodness for siblings and friends that happily identify with this myriad of material, as if they were right alongside me as I evolved. I guess these memories should best be shared among a particular audience of flower children and baby boomers.

This gift was priceless. I return to it over and over when I want to look back at the triumphs and trials of a child born in the 60’s. And when I see that Doodle art memory,  I am thankful for thoughtful gifts…and a sister who exaggerates.

Just wait till I see her again…I’m going to punch her in the arm!