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Memory is a funny thing. We’re confident we remember something, but then we’re surprised when reality intercedes. Take movies. Most people associate Humphrey Bogart with the line, “Play it again, Sam” from Casablanca. But what Rick actually said was, “You played it for her, you can play it for me.” Ingrid Bergman’s Ilsa says, “Play it once, Sam, for old times’ sake.” That’s closer, but it’s still not the line we think we remember from the movie.
An example closer to my heart are my daughters. Now that they’re in high school, I’m frequently reminded of the scene in “Father of the Bride,” when Steve Martin’s daughter tells him she’s engaged. He instantly sees her not as a 22-year-old woman who graduated college and spent a semester in Europe, but as a 5-year-old in pigtails who needs a booster seat.
Like all proud parents, our house is covered with photos. Memories decorate the walls, scroll by on screens and stare back from mugs as we sip our morning coffee. Their birth, first steps, and sharing a bath are just a few of the images which reinforce the perception we have of our children.
Recently, my girls asked me to stop calling a toilet “the potty.” But breaking habits is hard. Part of me will always see them as needing my help with shoes, riding a bike, or using an iPad. Today, they’re wearing high heels, driving cars, and showing me how the TV works. The children I remember have become young adults and it can be hard to reconcile reality with recollection. But, I’m grateful for the opportunity to make new memories with them, as time goes by.