The Hyperion Chronicles

The Hyperion Chronicles
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer”

#91 Flashbulb Memory

As most of you are probably aware, the space shuttle Columbia tore apart Saturday morning on it’s descent back to Earth. Watching the video, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Challenger. My teacher had been a finalist to go up, and so we did an entire unit on space, and were eagerly watching the lift-off on TV. I’ll always remember that.

This got me to thinking about these events that leave such an imprint on us. The official term is flashbulb memory, where we remember everything we did, said, and felt about our experience, like we were taking a flashbulb photograph. I asked a few people to share some of these moments for today’s column, but due to the short timing and rampant haterism I only received one response (and because of him, I’ll never make fun of Mississippi again). So, in lieu of my readers’ recollections, I decided to reveal a few of my own, hoping it inspires you to want to share. Some of the events shook the world, and some of them only shook my world, but all of them were unforgettable.

I think 9/11 will probably go down as the “JFK Assassination” of our generation, as far as everyone remembering exactly where they were when they first heard. For me, it was even more poignant, working at the world’s largest airport. I remember I had been outside, and I came in to see the first plane had hit. At that time, no one really knew what was going on. Later, when the second tower got attacked, I was out driving my Tug around the airport. I vividly remember police cars and other official-looking vehicles coming from every direction. One pulled up to me, and told me to take all my bags back to my area right that second. It was very bizarre. The rest of the day would be spent outside trying to make headway with the enormous task of unloading all the grounded planes and organizing the thousands of bags. What an ordeal. Worst of all, most of the employees were inside all day watching TV, leaving just a few of us to do all the work. But, on that day, anything for my country.

I remember the first time I ever fell in love with a sport. The Lakers were playing the Celtics in the Finals, and I watched it with my dad. Up until then sports seemed boring to me, something old people liked, but this time it was different. With Magic Johnson and Larry Bird matching shot for shot, the game seemed to come alive. I remember going out into our back yard to pretend I was Magic Johnson on the Lakers. We didn’t have a hoop, or a basketball for that matter, so I took my soccer ball and threw it up at this evergreen tree, pretending it was a hoop. Thinking back, I didn’t know anything about how the game was played, scored, or even how to shoot a soccer ball at the top of a glorified Christmas tree. But right then, none of that mattered. I had found a lifelong love.

I remember several years later being in high school, and our girls volleyball team made State, played up in Portland, Oregon, about an hour away. We traveled up there to support our team (although to be honest, any event that let us skip school and watch girls in skimpy clothing would have done the trick), and it was a glorious time. I don’t remember how the girls did, but I remember the exact moment I found out my hero, Magic Johnson, had HIV. I was coming back from getting a Slushy, and this guy saw my Magic tee shirt and yelled out “Hey, did you know Magic had AIDS?” (Back then that’s what everybody called HIV) I angrily told him that wasn’t true, but as soon as he said it, I knew in my gut that it was.

I remember the last episode of MASH. Well, I didn’t actually get to watch it. What I remember is that my Grandmother and Grandfather were visiting us in Oregon, and this was their last night. I wanted to stay up with the adults and watch the show, not because I liked it (which at the time I didn’t) but because everyone else was. That would be the last time I ever saw my grandfather, and I often bring that up if I’m trying to guilt-trip my mom into something. I’m a horrible son.

Speaking of that, I will remember the rest of my life the day my grandfather died, a couple of months after that MASH show. I came home to see my mom on the couch, with Ken Koth (the other pastor in our church besides my dad) and his wife flanking my mom on either side. She was crying uncontrollably, something I’d never seen before. I instinctively knew someone had died, although I thought it was my grandmother (which, happy to say, she’s still alive at 80, or 90, or 110, or something like that). I had never seen my mother cry before, and I hated it. I still hate to see her cry. It makes me feel just like that time on the couch.

I’ll always remember my first “war.” I realize now it wasn’t much of a contest, but to a kid who’d always known peace, Desert Storm was a big deal. As you may recall, we’d known for days it was coming; the only question was when. I came home from basketball practice, turned on the TV, to find that EVERY SINGLE CHANNEL had CNN on. The rest of the afternoon, I and the rest of my family (one by one as they got home) watched the news religiously to see what was happening. It was a little bit uncertain and scary, finally facing war for the first time.

How many of you remember OJ Simpson? I was in back in Oregon for a high school graduation present, and it was the last night visiting my friends. I’d heard earlier in the week that OJ’s ex-wife had been murdered, but in those first few days no one really knew what was going on. That Friday, I was hanging out with the gang one last time, and we went to Jenny Biernet’s house to pick her up. There on the TV was this white Ford Bronco, slowly driving down the freeway, with 3 helicopters and about 50 police cars behind it. It was like something out of a movie; a slow-motion Twilight Zone. We watched spellbound the rest of the evening as the spectacle played out. I’ll never forget that.

Do most of you remember what you did when the Millennium changed? (No letters from you anal-retentive types; you know what I mean) The 31st of December also happens to be my birthday, and my girlfriend at the time had planned this trip to Augusta, Georgia, partly to celebrate, and partly to get out of Atlanta, where we lived, because if you will recall, no one was entirely certain what would happen when the clock struck 12. Unfortunately, she came down sick, and had to go to the hospital. So, I ended up spending my birthday—and the end of the millennium to boot—in an uncomfortable chair next to my girl, who was knocked out from medicine most of the time. It was the worst. The remote control had no numbers, was hard to use, and only went in the “UP” direction. On top of that, the hospital was concerned what would happen if the power went out (all those guys on ventilators, I guess), so they had generators and huge flashlights lining the hallway. Looking back on it, I suppose it could have been lot worse, but at the time it seemed like hell.

Speaking of girlfriends, I can take you to where my world was first torn asunder. I was 18, and when it came to relationships, I was about as clueless as a Georgia Tech alumnus. Anyway, I had gotten involved in this harebrained long-distance relationship with this girl from New York, whom I’d never met, and even though everybody tried to tell me it wouldn’t work, what did they know? Well, after three months she finally flew down here to visit, and it was a complete disaster from the beginning. I guess I saw it too, but I was in denial. Finally I took her to this movie I really liked, and wanted her to like, thinking that would improve things. Afterward we walked back to my car, and as I hoped she was buzzing about the film. She told me that the movie had opened her eyes, and she was seeing clearly for the first time in awhile. She said, “I finally see the direction my life is headed.” [Very pregnant pause] “And it’s not with you.” Just like that. I stood there in the parking lot of Phipps Plaza (and yes, I can show you the exact spot), dumbfounded; not knowing what to say. I was in shock. The whole ride home was almost from muscle memory, and then I had to spend the whole next day with her. But that’s another story.

Lastly, I vividly remember the births of all three of my siblings. With my brother, we were living in Kenya, and I wasn’t even three. I knew a little bit of what was going on, that mom was leaving and I was getting a baby brother, but that’s about all I knew. I remember they brought him home, and my mother had this green dress on. I was shocked first of all to see that my brother was white! Our gardener, Joel, had recently gained a child in his family, and I just assumed our new baby would be black like in Joel’s. The only white people I even knew were my parents, and they didn’t count. I didn’t even know I was white at the time. Quite a shock.

With my oldest sister, the first thing I remember is my mom deceiving me about it. She had been ill in bed for some time, and she was talking to me, saying things were going to be different. I remember out of the blue asking her if she was pregnant, and she answered, “Why would you think that?” Unsophisticated in the devious ways of women, I let it go. I remember we all bet on the due date. She was due on June 8th, but with my brother and I both being late, all the money was betting afterward. I originally bet the 9th, and then changed to the 8th. I remember that day I was so excited because I had won the bet! That was back in the day when women didn’t have to leave the hospital 20 minutes after having their baby, so it was a couple of days later when we went to the hospital to bring her home. I remember sitting in the back seat of the car on the way home and the song “Isn’t She Lovely?” by Stevie Wonder came on, and my parents started singing it to my sister, and it became her song.

With my youngest sister, the memory is vivid, because they were scared she would have to come by C-Section. It was on a Sunday morning, and mom was in the hospital. My dad got to miss church too, but there was no love for me, so I was stuck at church worried to death. I kept hearing reports from various people, but it wasn’t until Marilyn Brown told me my little sister was born that I could finally take a breath. After that, I couldn’t stop smiling, and everyone was congratulating me. It’s too bad I was too young to smoke cigars, not that the church people would have given them up anyway, but one can dream.

Well, that’s my partial list. I suppose there are more, but I wanted to share these. If they make you think of your own, famous or not, please send them to me. I’d like to have a follow-up column and print everyone else’s. Until then, remember what you can, forget what you have to, and send money to your favorite columnist.

Here’s wishing all your memories are happy ones,

Hyperion
February 03, 2003

Credits:Editing help from Bear