At what age are memories reliable?
We lived on Ridge Road from ’67 to ’70, just four short years, but loaded with memories. Moving away in third grade helps me pinpoint my earliest memories to that house. I have a few that predate our tiny brick Bethesda, Maryland home, but those memories are snippets, snapshots. The earliest of all: a brick of frozen horse meat thawing on top of our stove. I know this happened daily, so possibly my memory is really a composite of many, but I can see that box in my mind—navy blue with white lettering, the same the size as a bundle of four or five CD cases. When fully thawed, my parents plopped the meat in a dish for our cats to share.
On Ridge Road, my brothers and I each had a best friend. Mine was John Petty. He lived across the street. David’s was Steve Bruce, he lived three or four houses away. And Dana’s was Davey Fend. He lived across the street from Steve. It was a happy coincidence that we each had a friend the exact same age us living a stone’s throw away.
There were other kids in the neighborhood, lots of them, but I can’t remember much about them individually. I know we played wiffle ball in the four-way intersection a block away. We sped around our neighborhood on our bicycles like a pint-sized motorcycle gang. And once, the Gordon girl and her next door neighbor came by my house. Along with John Petty, the four of us ducked behind the toolshed in the overgrown back corner of my yard and took off all of our clothes.
The kid I remember most was Davey Fend. Dana and I went to Davey’s house daily to watch Speed Racer. The Fends had a more modern TV than my family. It picked up ‘ultrahigh frequency’ stations that showed kid oriented shows on weekday afternoons. The networks, the only stations our TV picked up, showed soap operas. One year, Dana and Davey joined an afterschool football program. Me, being the smallest kid you could ever imagine, wasn’t permitted to play. Even though Davey was Dana’s friend, and neither of them were present, Mrs. Fend let me in everyday after school so I wouldn’t miss Speed Racer.
Davey was a big kid. He was the first one in the neighborhood to be able to lift a manhole cover. He was also the first to drop one on his toe. Dana invented the ‘Davey Dance,’ hopping around on one foot yelling “Ow, ow, ow!” Only funny until we learned that Davey broke his toe.
Here’s my unreliable memory:
Dana, Davey and I explored the toolshed one afternoon looking for treasures. Davey may have bullied me. I can’t remember for sure, but John Petty and I were the two smallest kids in the neighborhood. It was the sixties. The little kids got bullied. That’s my excuse. I’m sticking with it.
We found a garden rake hanging on the wall of the shed. Davey, with his propensity to recklessly show off, hooked the rake over the flat edge of the roof and tried to climb it like a gym rope. As he neared the top, the rake slipped off the roof and Davey landed on his back. This was the first time I ever saw someone get the wind knocked out of them.*
Sensing Davey’s helplessness, I grabbed the garden rake and hit him over the head with the sharp tines. Blood poured down over his face. He wailed. My world slowed. No one moved. Dana didn’t run to get help. Davey, bent over as if at prayer, held his head like a football. Suddenly, he gained control of his raspy, snotty voice. He lifted his bloody hands before his face and screamed “Look what you did to me. You killed me!”
That’s my whole story. I can’t remember anything that happened after that. I have a sense that it was a huge deal that included meetings between parents and maybe even law enforcement, but I don’t ever remember getting punished. I don’t recall anyone ever bringing it up again. Sometimes I wonder if it happened at all.
When I was a teenager, my mother told me that Davey was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. After she explained to me what that meant, I decided that hitting him with the rake must have caused it. For years I blamed myself for Davey’s MS.
In retrospect, the whole episode seems sort of unbelievable to me. I’ve thought about asking my father if it ever happened, if I ever brained Davey Fend with a rake. Once, after a similar series of questions about the past, my father lost patience with me. “Why do you want to know that. Just let it go.”
As a sci-fi nerd, I feel as if someone has tinkered with my brain and tried to erase this tragic memory from my past. They did a shoddy job. Most of it, or at least some of it, is still there.
Edit: Probably fiction. My brothers, both older than me, don’t recall this happening. It seems a pretty specific, detailed and violent memory to make up. Wonder what that says about me.
* Geting your wind knocked out might be an out of date or a uniquely American term. If you’re unfamiliar, read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Getting_the_wind_knocked_out_of_you
The Other Stuff 
You have very similar childhood stories to my husband’s. I am always appalled by the things little boys and big boys do to each other. I was always an old soul as a child. Childhood memories are unique. Our son remembers things before the age of 3.
I suspect your father was troubled by the rake incident and didn’t want to discuss it.
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For me, this memory is an outlier for it’s violence. If I invented it, well that’s disturbing and if it really happened, disturbing also. Now that it’s so firmly in my mind, I will probably ask my brothers about it to see what they remember. When Eli was a young teen, it was eerie the things he could remember about his early childhood. Now a lot of that has faded. I can also see a pretty good fall off of memories now from when I started blogging 10 years ago. I’ll read some of my very old stuff and think ‘how could I possibly have remembered that?’
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True, it is disturbing, however what happened prior to the event is telling. The human brain is a marvelous thing.
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I had this discussion with my husband the other night – about earliest memories. Mine are around 2 years old and as you say – more snapshots then anything else. Pegging doll clothes on a little line. Seeing a snake at the bottom of the ramp. Being sick in a dark room with a fan going. The sort of age you’re talking are clearer but open to tampering – if someone said “no that didn’t happen” I would doubt myself. I think memory at any age is open to analysis because we only recall things according to how we felt at the time – and that doesn’t take anyone else perspective into account. Interesting post Jeff.
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When I was two, my father got a movie camera and filmed a lot of our outdoors playing. Because of that, I can’t tell what I remember and what I might have seen after the fact on those films. Moving around a lot in those years helps pinpoint the date. I have a snapshot of sitting on a swing set talking with a friend about the Monkeys TV show. That was a really early memory as well. Of course, I have no idea if it happened.
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I was just having a discussion with Daughter today about memories. She thinks I don’t remember her childhood🙄🤦🏼♀️ I told her I just have different memories than she does.
We all see things from our own perspective and different memories have different emotional impacts. Daughter hold on to “bad” memories from her childhood, while I remember fun events and simple days🤷🏼♀️
I hope you really DID whack him with the rake while you had a chance😂😂😂
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Poor Davey. I’m sure he’s wondering WTF? Why are people siding against me? I think it would be really easy for two people to walk away from the same situation with different memories. I just read an essay by David Sedaris (again!) where all his siblings have certain memories of their childhood but his sister has a memory of abuse. Potentially like this memory I wrote about, we remember bits and pieces and then our imaginations fill in the rest. It might have happened, but probably (?) not.
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Part memory, part or all wish fulfillment? A situation where all kinds of psyche defense mechanisms could have come into play? Plus a father reluctant to reach into his collection of memories to help clarify.
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My favourite piece of research about memory looked at recall of witness statements from a major accident on an annual basis. There were variations between the original statements and the study explored those and also plotted the slow but inevitable change in the recollection of all the witnesses over the years.
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As I was subject to repeated biting attacks by a cousin who pretended that I was the attacker, I’m going to suggest a theory that the rake fell, hit Davy and in his shocked and confused state he blamed you. I’m sure all the witnesses had different versions of events at the time too.
But that’s me; at age 3, I got punished until that little shit Paul got caught in the act.
Thanks
DD
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The study you reference is interesting. I’d suggest though that by revisiting it annually helps keep the details fresh. I wish they ran a parallel story where they checked in every three years. It would be neat to see how things changed. I’d like to think that Davey wounded himself, but then I need to wonder why I attributed it to myself. To quote M*A*S*H, ‘it’s all very psychological.’
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Memories seem to change over time, Jeff, especially when we start to write about them. How is it we can struggle to remember something that we did a few days ago yet can remember vividly an incident from our younger years. Perhaps as you suggest, each time we recall an event we add another layer to it (true or otherwise). My first memories of childhood begin at around the age of seven. Prior to that it is all guesswork.
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You’ve got me thinking about when my earliest complex memories formed. I’m sure I remember learning how to ride a bike when I was just shy of five. So that’s probably around the start of it. My brothers are sure I made this up (or dreamed it). Weird to find out a formative memory probably didn’t happen.
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Great post, Jeff! These portals into vivid memories that no one else can confirm never fail to fascinate me. It sure does have a sci-fi vibe. I love the sudden laugh of this turn, re: Davey: “He was the first one in the neighborhood to be able to lift a manhole cover. He was also the first to drop one on his toe.” Thanks for inviting us to recall how many of these unreliable memories we have banging around.
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Predictably, this has me second guessing some of the other things I ‘remember’ from childhood. I’m really happy you enjoyed it.
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How interesting. I wonder if the rake just landed on his face when he fell and you blamed it on yourself? I don’t think it’s a leap that kids blame themselves for things (like you did with the MS) even though they don’t really know how it happened? What a beautifully detailed account though. What a mystery!
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Thanks Wynne. At work yesterday, I got itching to write up a story from my past. I couldn’t wait to get home and start writing. I’ve been reading a ton of David Sedaris for the past few months and memoir writing has become attractive to me. Even though the validity is now in question, I’m happy with the result.
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I’m glad you’re happy with the result – because I think you should be! But I don’t think the validity is in question – that’s how you remember it. Whether it is the truth or not, well – does it matter? Because it shaped you in a way over time just because it was the way you saw it. Right?
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Fascinating story, Jeff. And so vivid. Maybe you were bullied. The rake incident suggests that.
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Well, I’ll probably never know the true story. But I enjoyed the writing process, so a win from my point of view.
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Is it horrific that I kind of want it to be true? (because it’s such a vivid story, I can hear the Speed Racer theme song playing in the background.)
I have all sorts of snippets like this, where in retrospect, I am chastising myself for being a bad human. I’m pretty sure they were all real, but now you’ve got me doubting. Though I doubt I’m that inventive…
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It really is amazing how our transgressions float around in our brains the rest of our life. I guess that’s what helps make us ethical human beings. It kind of scares me if it’s not true because it’s a memory I’ve lived with most of my life. It makes me wonder if I really played in waste-deep water after hurricane Agnes and about a thousand other stories from my childhood that I’ve told my kids about.
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I love this story. That relationship with false memories, aspects of the truth combined with the imagined, and the ambiguity. First, horse meat for the cats?! WTF? Those must have been some bad-ass cats. The manhole line is super, then the surprising image of course with the rake. And I think most readers can relate to something odd like this they did that got swept over or maybe didn’t really happen at all. I love that topic, terrific piece here Jeff. Thank you!
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Yeah, I wondered about the horse meat too. Based on my in depth research (a quick google) it seems that mass produced dry cat food boomed in the 60s. Before that, a lot of people fed their cats table scraps, people food or ground meat. I wonder if the manhole thing happened too. Oh well, I might retag it with my “almost fiction’ tag that I on the rare occasion that I write fiction. But anyway, thanks for the thumbs up. I’ve been floating today on a lot of positive writing feedback over the past 24 hours.
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Float on…
I have a tale of cooking horse meat once. God. I guess maybe you have to do everything once. Theoretically. Or do you? Anyhow, loved this. Float on, float on…
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I think we are all haunted by phantom memories. I swear, I told people for years that I had my toe run over by a car backing up. But I have no memories of a hospital visit or limping or crutches. It is unlikely a car wouldn’t leave some evidence. So, I’m chalking it up to an overactive imagination. That, I definitely had!
I hope it is some consolation that you couldn’t possibly have caused the MS with a rake. If he is still alive, perhaps you could find and ask him. But the internet says his life expectancy was 25 to 35 years. Which is tragic and probably why this ‘memory’ haunts you. There is nothing you can do to go back and undo what you might have done. But, you can always make contributions to the study of a cure for M.S. That might be one way to lay your demons to rest.
I think most humans spend their adult lives trying to compensate for mistakes they cannot change or undo. Give yourself a break and assume, like most kids, you did an impulsive and stupid thing. Most kids do this at some point. Forgive that child and let the guilt go.
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You would make a good nonprofit fundraiser. Not sure I’m carrying a lot of guilt so much as feeling perplexed. Why would I do that? Why would I think I did if I really didn’t? All very strange. I’ve since learned the MS part is real, so yes, I guess Davey had a short life. Terribly unfair.
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This is such an interesting and thought-provoking post, Jeff. I’ve heard of False Memory Syndrome and have looked into and researched this a lot in the past. I investigated whether my awful memories of my abuse were real but then found that this dreadful music teacher had been in the local paper, the Hackney Gazette, for abusing a little boy of the same age that I was and at the same time. This was years ago when my Mum was alive. My parents were aware of the abuse when I was finally coaxed into telling my Mum what I was so upset about at the age of twelve. The abuse began when I was only eight. Unfortunately, back then, these things weren’t discussed and were ‘swept under the carpet’, and my parents were told by Social Services never to mention the abuse to me again and that I will ‘forget all about it!’ That’s what happened to kids that ‘told’ in those days! It was never mentioned again, and still, to this day, I have unanswered questions that I long to talk to my Mum about, but, of course, I never will now. Sorry, I’ve gone a bit off-topic there. I just thought it might be relevant somehow; then, maybe not, in which case, please forgive me. (Feel free to edit my comment as needed.)
Your story is fascinating. Whether what you remember as the truth happened or not in reality, you’ll probably never know. But, to you, it’s your truth. The only way you could be sure about the rake incident is by asking Davey if it happened, but given that he was diagnosed with MS at a reasonably young age, I realise he may not still be around to ask. Children often blame themselves for all sorts of things, especially if those things are difficult for a child to comprehend, like MS. I know that, in my case, I used to feel incredibly guilty and thought that because I was being abused, I somehow caused my Mum to be mentally unwell, even though she didn’t know it was happening at that stage. That seems far-fetched as an adult, but in the mind of a very confused and damaged eight-year-old, I can see why I thought this.
My earliest memory is of being three years old and going away with my grandmother to a hotel, which had a steep grassy bank outside that I loved to roll down. It was only when I went back to the same seaside town as an adult and went to revisit that hotel, which, amazingly, was still there, although with a new name, that I realised the steep bank was, in fact, a small gentle slope outside the hotel’s front door. To a three-year-old, it would have seemed enormous.
Sorry for the long comment. Your post, which fascinated me, triggered off a lot of my own memories. Don’t worry, though; I’m fine. I’ve written most of the trauma out of me over the years I’ve had my blog, and although I have unanswered questions, I’ve had to come to terms with that.
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When my brothers were both like ‘nope, never happened’ I thought about people who ‘remember’ things that didn’t happen to them. I guess a lot of those memories are put there by well meaning people trying to help them out. Your memory of the ‘huge’ hill reminds me of a phobia Susan had when she was a little kid. Her bedroom was the first one you came to when you went upstairs in her home. Her parents were ‘way down at the other end of the hall.’ She was convinced she would be kidnapped in the night and no one would know. She brought this up with her mom recently and her mom said ‘our bedroom door was about five feet away from yours.’ Kids are so cute.
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When my brothers were both like ‘nope, never happened’ I thought about people who ‘remember’ things that didn’t happen to them. I guess a lot of those memories are put there by well meaning people trying to help them out. Your memory of the ‘huge’ hill reminds me of a phobia Susan had when she was a little kid. Her bedroom was the first one you came to when you went upstairs in her home. Her parents were ‘way down at the other end of the hall.’ She was convinced she would be kidnapped in the night and no one would know. She brought this up with her mom recently and her mom said ‘our bedroom door was about five feet away from yours.’ Kids are so cute.
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i have a memory of mom saying i sat down on a baby rattlesnake in the parking lot of the Brookfield Zoo when we lived in Chicago ( i would have been , say 3 YO). i have a dim visual memory being by a car in the parking lot and the entrance to the zoo, but the memory of being told that overrode any actual memory of it. looking back i can’t fathom how any of it happened. why would i sit down in the parking lot? what happened? who recognized a tiny rattler? what?
i also have a memory from about that time of playing in the snow and having to go poo. the rule in our house was , if you went inside and had to take off your snowboots and snowsuit, you could not go back outside, and i wanted to stay outside and play. the memory had me going to the back of a shed and taking a poo in the snow and then worrying about whether mom would find it when the snow eventually melted. looking back, there is no way i could have taken off my snow suit and clothes and managed to poo like a pro camper in the woods. did i just think about trying it, but that plus the attendant anxiety carve a memory in my little gray matter?
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This is my favorite comment of the day. A rattlesnake in a parking lot in Chicago? Does that happen often? Like I wrote, I have snapshot memories from my youngest days. Are these even real? I guess does it even matter because we’ve had the memories our whole lives. They’re real to us. I’m glad the snake didn’t bite you–literally or figuratively.
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You just resurrected some of my own childhood memories–some fond, some sad–from that exact same turbulent timeframe. Like you said… snippets, snapshots… so many faded photographs. Thanks & Peace.
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