Times Remembered

“Remember : Don’t jump off the roof.”

My dad said this to me at the end of our last phone conversation. Actually, he says this every time we part and has done so for years. To my husband he says about me, “Make sure she doesn’t jump off the roof, ok?” This is his way of concluding a conversation. It’s his, “Take care” or “I’ll see you soon” or any other end of an encounter- a complimentary close, a final remark.

“Don’t jump off the roof” is also a literal warning, as in when I was a little girl, I did jump off the roof of my house on his watch, and the impression of that event has left a 30 year old blemish on my dad’s psyche that is only apparent to me, as he delivers that mantra every time he leaves a room that I’m standing in.
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Postulate A:
Oftentimes memories are simply interpretive imprints that mark beginnings of character definitions.

Example 1: The day one gets braces on his teeth is marked as the beginning of one’s teeth being straightened, and can be defined as the moment one began to hope he might become more attractive someday. The memory of getting one’s braces removed, as follows, is the beginning of learning how to live as one who once had braces and then braces himself for one of two experiences: a.) finding out that braces indeed made people more attracted to him as evidenced by the hoards of other straight-teethed people beating down his door to be near him or b.) realizing that having braces changed nothing except, possibly, his overbite, and now he has to cope with the understanding that there is no such thing as a sure method of becoming more attractive.

Either way, the memories that act as beginnings of life-defining moments have burrowed themselves into the brain; no matter how many times or from how many places they jump, the synapses will never be the same.

So it goes with remembering.
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“One.. two..three..No, WAIT!” A breath. “Ok. This time I’ll do it. One..two.. three..Not yet!” I was sitting at the top peak of our single story house, my legs dangling off the side. I wanted to get down, but I was forbidden to use the ladder. That was the rule. “Ginger, if I let you come with me onto the roof, you must promise that you won’t climb down the ladder by yourself.”

I promised.

My father was working on the air conditioner and didn’t have time for my wandering spirit or my wayward bladder.

My memory of that moment is very clear. I stared at the ground pretending that the passing of time was my ally – I imagined just how it must feel to jump off, to land, and to be on the ground remembering what it was like to have jumped. “It will seem like I flew down.” I put myself safely on the ground in my mind and in doing so, strengthened my resolve to go ahead and jump. I couldn’t conceive of going back, nor could I imagine asking to climb down the ladder after making such a fool-proof agreement. “Of course, I’ll mind you, Dad. No, I won’t go down the ladder. I promise.”

Clearly, this – the jumping - had to happen. I steeled myself as, for the last time, I whispered, “One… two.. three!”

I jumped.
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Postulate B
The problem with successful beginnings is that they make a person feel invincible.

Example 2: If a person jumps off the roof of her house as a kid, lands and sits down, thinks, “Ok. That’s that,” and then goes inside the house to resume normalcy, the rest of her life is filled with that expectation – that if one imagines she can do something, isn’t breaking any solid promises, and feels confident that a little leap is worth a result, her life is filled with similar attempts. In a way, it’s like a personal dare: I dare you to kiss that boy. I dare you to go to college. I dare you to get married, to buy a house, to have a baby, to sell away your comfortable situation and start it all over again. I dare you! And after you’ve done it, imagine how relieved you’ll feel!
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How scary it must be for one to realize how little control he can have over impressionable beginnings. Even more frightening is the realization that one had no idea, until, for example, the day that his daughter jumped off the roof, that that was the beginning of how she would interpret herself: as that girl – the one who would jump off the roof, the one who would find her way around the promises, the one who would extract herself from the uncomfortable circumstance, the one who would consider flying as the first step in the resolution to find normalcy.

This post was written for the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic and post responses - all of us together at the same time even though we are continents apart. (Lovely!) As soon as I get my act together, I'll link everyone here.. :) Until then, you'll notice the others hanging out in the comments.