I had a birthday about a week ago. In two (very) short years, I will be 30. I am by no means a wise person, I don't learn lessons easily, I make mistakes in spades, and I don't know half of what I hope to one day, but I do know this: At 28 years old, I am a nerd. And I also know that I am absolutely comfortable with that fact.
There is no telling what B will remember about me or his childhood in 23 years (when he is 28). I often think about my childhood and my parents and what I remember about those days. And I don't mean the big memories -- the birthdays, the Christmas mornings, the school programs. I mean the little things. The small details that really matter. I mean those random memories that creep up when you least expect them. The memories you didn't even know you had. The memories that are triggered by a smell, or a song, or the way someone pronounces a word.
I remember how excited Taylor and I were when it snowed in Dothan that one year. I remember how my Dad's excitement matched our own (and how funny we all thought it was when Bailey, our dog, peed in the snow). I remember my Mom patiently placing all of my long blonde hair in pink sponge rollers at night and how she would let me then
But most of all, I remember reading. I remember huddling under covers and in closets, finding a little space of my own in this big world. I remember solving mysteries with Nancy Drew. I remember sobbing uncontrollably when Kirsten's best friend died on the ship during their voyage to America. I remember when my friends and I tried to create a Babysitter's Club. I remember when my aunt gave me The Secret Garden and how mad I was that I didn't have a secret garden of my own. I remember when I thought high school would be just like Sweet Valley High. I remember Arthur Cluck and Amelia Bedelia and Sarah, Plain and Tall. And I remember that my Mom loved to read. She and I both read multiple (and by "multiple," I mean at least five) books at a time. We surround ourselves with stacks of books and pencils. In this way, we are identical. In 23 years, my go-to memory of my Mom will still be that she has always loved to read.
I can only hope Beckett remembers the same thing about me.