Let's Make a Memory
NOTE: This is Newsletter #99.
Next month will be the 100th Issue of
PAUSE MORE. RUSH LESS.
Thanks for taking this journey with me to a slower, more reflective life.
~
Let’s Make a Memory
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on memories—how we make them—why they shape us, and what makes them STICK.
As life marches on, I’m calling to mind memories of family members that have gone before me. Memories are all I have left of them—except for a few sacred mementos shared with my siblings—my father’s wedding ring, his watch (a gift from my mother on their engagement on 3.15.48), her pink wallet, his dog tags from the Marine Corps after serving at Iwo Jima in WWII, the fedora he wore, and an old pair of work shoes, complete with duct tape to patch holes.
Even the duct tape stirs a memory of a man who worked hard to provide for his six kids—not to mention an era when people didn’t throw away old shoes. They repaired them. I remember our local “shoemaker.” He replaced heels, soles, stitched and polished our shoes to make them look new. By choosing to repair them instead of replacing them, even our shoes held the potential to become sentimental memories.
As I sit on my patio and write this newsletter, I’m listening to soft music and the gentle coo of a Mourning Dove, and I let my mind drift back to my grandfather—on my mother’s side—the only one I ever knew. I recall he often invited me over to do something I seldom did at home. Enjoy TV dinners on TV tables in front of his black and white television set. Together, we watched his favorite westerns like Have Gun Will Travel, starring Richard Boone and The Rebel, starring Nick Adams.
To him, I suppose he thought we were only watching TV. Little did he know this ten-year-old was also watching him. The way he walked with his wooden cane, the way he laughed, the tender tone he spoke to me, and his ritual of smoking a corncob pipe. I loved sitting in an easy chair beside him. While he enjoyed his programs, I relished the novelty of eating TV dinners. I felt grown up. Unbeknownst to him, he was crafting a lifelong memory for me—one so vivid I can share it with you now—a lifetime later.
“We do not remember days, we remember moments.”
— Cesare Pavese
When I survey my life as a young father, I recall being “intentional” about “making memories” with my sons, David and Mark. There were many times I hoped they would lock away in their memory specific things we did together when they were young. For example, the first time we took them to Disney World, we stayed in a cheap, musty hotel with a pathetic pool. So, naturally, we spent all our time at Typhoon Lagoon, enjoyed Splash Mountain, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, and much more.
If I ask them today what was their fondest memory of that first trip what do you think they would say? Typhoon Lagoon? Nope. It was swimming in the small pool at the musty hotel. It was then I realized while we can make memories with our kids; they decide which memories STICK—which shape them—and which are stashed away for the rest of their lives. The best we can do is to make as many memories as possible for them to choose from.
This reminded me of an undeniable fact. While it’s true, we can make our memories—our memories also make us.
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SOMETHING TO CHEW ON: What are some of your favorite memories growing up? Think about WHO was in those memories. Did they attempt to “make this memory” for you? What do you remember most? Why? Ask your children what are their favorite memories—and why. Their answers might surprise you. Intentionally think about how you can make memories for your children or grandchildren in the future.
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Photo by Karen Magruder
CAPTION FOR PHOTO ABOVE: L-R. My niece Kayleen (Magruder) Moll, today holds Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in nutrition and runs a home-based business, nephew Kris Magruder is a Sonogram specialist, son David Magruder, is a professional writer and social media content manager for major manufacturer, son Mark Magruder, is a director of product line management for a leading golf apparel company.
Oh, yeah, and that’s me the holding the sign—when I was a full-time freelance advertising copywriter and executive speechwriter working out of my home—so I could make memories like this one. I’m currently retired and writing essays and contemporary inspirational novels.
Behind the camera is my wife, Karen, chief baker and Kool-Aid maker—back in the day—so we could launch this “corner” business. Karen retired as an administrative assistant in Special Education at a local school and today assists me with the marketing of my novels.
(I don’t know how much money we made at our Kool-Aid and cookie stand back then, but the cookies sure were good, and yes, this junior staff ate most of the profits.)
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