Lucille Clifton: Why Some People Be Mad at Me Sometimes
One of my incredibly talented sisters is writing a memoir, and since she began the project, we've been having some interesting conversations about memory. Specifically, we've been having conversations about how ridiculously often she and I second guess our memories. With six kids in our family, there are so many stories that have been told, retold, re-imagined, and mixed up over the years: Alan squirted Steph with the infamous squirt gun, no I did it, no that was Ali's boyfriend Dave.
Anna will remember a specific incident and then she'll call me and say, "Well, I don't know, maybe that didn't happen to me. Did it happen to you?" For a split second, I'll remember it vividly. Yes, that was me. And then the moment passes and I think maybe I've just heard it told so many times that it seems like it happened to me. I reply, "I have no idea."
I'm sure to some extent this happens in all families, though ours may be a bit extreme. Either way, when I came across this Lucille Clifton poem in Hip Hop Speaks to Children, the first thing I did was make a copy and pop it in the mail to my sister. I hope she keeps on remembering *her* memories, no matter what the rest of us say.
by Lucille Clifton
they ask me to remember
but they want me to remember
their memories
and I keep on remembering
mine
2 comments:
oh thanks so much for the nice comments, and for picking up a copy! i'm glad you like it, and so glad you spot Cinnamon in there ;)
and about this post- oh my gosh, i'm the oldest of 5 and this happens CONSTANTLY with us too! i always feel so loopy when i tell a story like it happened to me and my sister (I also have a sister Anna) will say, no that happened to me. isn't it crazy ?
yes! it's crazy. and it *does* make you feel totally loopy. i'm glad to hear it's not just us, though. :)
hope cinnamon is enjoying his new life of country rock-star fame!
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