When I was just shy of three years old, my dad took me to the hospital. I held his hand, my own stretched as high over my head as it could go. There was a brown reception desk. We were directed toward a room. We walked the few steps toward it. In it was a very tall white bed with a TV nearby. In the bed was my mother, hair down to below her shoulders. She was happy to see me. Next to her was my newborn baby brother.
Here’s what I know for sure:
- My approximate size when my brother was born. (I know my age then due to wonders such as legal documentation and subtraction. Plus, there are photos.)
- That my mom’s hair was below her shoulders. (There are photos).
Here’s what I’m reasonably sure about:
- I held my dad’s hand. (I’ve shared this memory with my parents many times and they never contradicted this.)
- My mom’s bed was white. (Isn’t that standard?)
- She was happy to see me. (Wouldn’t you be?)
Aaaand… basically nothing else.
Did I arrive to the hospital with my dad? Was he the one to walk me in? Was there a brown reception desk? Was the room right next to the desk? (Likely not.) Was there a very tall bed and a TV in the room? I don’t know.
And I’m not sure it matters.
Even as time has passed, even now that I no longer play this memory reel over and over for myself as I did when I was little, even now that it’s less a clear video and more a series of faded microfiches that match the yellowing color photos, it sticks in my mind.
It sticks because being a sister is a key part of my identity, my personal history. I remember, or remember remembering, that it happened, because my brother matters to me.
Similar memories probably stick for you: you remember, certainly, an adventure you went on, when you first (or last) fell in love, or what it was like to meet a new family member of your own for the first time.
They stick, and, supposedly, the more we recall them, the less accurate they become.
This may matter if we use our memories to make decisions that affect someone’s well-being. But in a treasured memory like this, does it matter what exact color the furniture was? Exactly what someone said? How everyone was positioned? The order in which things happened?
I’m not so sure it does.
What do you think?
This Glass Has Water 
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