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Capture the Flag

Overheard on the subway:

Randy …so then, I rolled my snowmobile about eight times, eh?

Jim Woah!

Randy And my mom comes running out and starts screamin’ at my dad, “You’ve killed him! You’ve killed him!”

Jim Were ya hurt?

Randy Nah. I just got up and started loading the snowmobile back on the truck. I was fine, eh?

It’s a windy day. Sage and Paul are standing in line at Lick’s, ordering. There is what looks like a poignant tear trickling down Paul’s face.

Sage I’d like a veggie burger meal, please. What did you want, babe?

Paul, solemnly A veggie burger too.

Sage He’d like the kid’s meal veggie burger.

Clerk, in a smoopy voice You want the veggie burger, sweetheart? Is that what you waaaant?

Paul blinks his eyes

Sage Yes, please. And to drink, a -

Clerk Don’t you want anything ellllllse, honey?

Paul blinks his eyes

Sage And to drink, an apple -

Clerk frantically picks up the basket of candy canes Don’t you want one of THESE?

Sage Oh, thank you so much for offering, but no. No thank you.

Paul Why?

Sage He’d like an apple juice. And I think that’s -

Paul Why not, Mama?

Clerk Oh but why not? He looks so saaaaad. Dontchoo, honey.

Paul But Mama, why not?

Sage, willing her eyes not to roll He - has - a - blocked - tearduct - that - makes - his - eye - water - he’s - just - fine. Thanks.

Clerk, doubtfully Oooooooh.

When the organizer announced we would play Capture the Flag, Paul immediately jumped up and down and said, “Capture the Flag [which he has never played in his life] is my favorite!” then added in a whisper to me, “What’s Capture the Flag?”

Reason #94 to homeschool: the Borg Mind.

I explained that I hadn’t played the game in many years and wouldn’t be much help. As I watched the game progress (it seemed to involve a lot of fort building, which wasn’t a part of the Montessori version I played at five years old) I thought back to playing the game myself. I remember what seemed like a miles long field at the time, but which was probably half the size of a football field, and kids laughing and running, and the jails at either end of the field, which consisted of wire spools half the size of the teachers.

I thought about how centred that memory is - how focused - me, grass, sound of laughter - and how standing there at 32 I was aware of almost everything. The music playing over the PA system, the organizer’s voice, what Paul was doing, the other games running in the same room, the scratchy tag on the inside of my boot. I felt sad about the loss of such focused concentration, and wondered if comes with age.

Years ago I heard an NPR segment about memory. The person being interviewed said that memory isn’t a file cabinet with file folders, each memory neatly labeled. He said it’s like a giant spiderweb, and that every memory in your head is connected to another in some way. I know that’s true with recent memories - I can smell a particular kind of soap, which instantly brings me to our little Ozark house, then the time I spent there alone while Todd was wrapping things up in the Southwest and Paul was with his Granny, and hey, I haven’t listened to Frou Frou for awhile, and I should start that album up right now.

But childhood memories? They truly are filing cabinets, and the ink is fading away. More every year.