Memories are an important part of our lives. They are so important that Dr. James McGaugh, who has dedicated years to the research of memory, declares that “If you don’t have memory, you don’t care about anything else” (McLeod). I have always treasured my memories of some past events. Even though some may be construed from very traumatic and painful experiences, I know how important memories are and how they have contributed to who I am today. Life experiences, both positive and negative, help us develop a profound and vibrant sense of self.
As I think about memories and their importance in our lives, I also think about how over the years, as we mature and grow older, there are moments we choose to relive in our minds and we may even convince ourselves that we can still do the same things we did twenty, thirty, or even forty years ago. Sadly, most times our bodies are not in agreement with those thoughts. However, it does not matter; somehow those memories make us feel good all over again; the emotions seem real and if for just a brief moment, we are young again. That thought went through my mind this past weekend as I watched the movie Stand Up Guys with Al Pacino, Christopher Walken and Alan Arkin. The story is about a gangster, Val (Pacino), who is freed from prison after serving twenty-eight years for accidentally killing the mob boss’s son in crossfire. His friend, Doc (Walken) is his gangster buddy from those years who is waiting for him at the prison gate; together they embark on one final adventure. Val is in his 70’s and wants to do in one night what he had not been able to do in the past years. He has memories of his life before prison, a life of sex, booze, drugs, and violence with his mob buddies. Some who have seen the film claim that that is all there is to the story and the reviews have been unfavorable. I watched the movie from the perspective of a woman who is approaching seventy way too fast for her liking; I was able to see other aspects of the film. Here is a man who has missed so much living for years and who needs to cram into his short life of freedom (Val knows he is marked for death by the mob boss), many of our basic human needs: affection, understanding, fun, food, a sense of belonging and friendship. After a few humorous and bittersweet capers, Val and Doc spring Hirch (Arkin), their third mob buddy, from a nursing home. The three seasoned gangster buddies manage to relive moments of their past knowing that this is their last opportunity; they also rekindled their bond of friendship.
One moment stands out for me and it was then that I realized the film has a deeper meaning; it is when Val convinces a young woman at a bar to dance with him. He tips the disc jockey and asks him to play a song from the 80’s titled When Something is Wrong With my Baby (Sam & Dave). It is a slow dance filled with soul and as Val dances he holds the girl with respect yet at the same time with lots of feeling; he closes his eyes and savors the moment. The girl perceives the emotional moment Val is living and one can see how her look becomes mellow and she allows herself to enjoy the dance. As a spectator I saw that moment as one when Val is reliving his past through the memories of a younger Val dancing with a girl he cares about a lot. For a brief moment he no longer is a seventy year old man, in his mind and heart he is thirty years younger.
It was a sad moment for me; I even got teary-eyed. Perhaps I realized that this is how many seniors feel; their minds are still young, their memories are still young, but reality says something else which is what the younger generation sees. Perhaps I felt sad for myself because I know I am walking that same path. Society places limits across the board on what seniors can and cannot do without considering them on an individual basis, without taking the time to know them and what their lives were like years earlier. Perhaps that is the advantage of living in a community of 55-plus residents where we take the time to get to know each other and we are able to demonstrate that we are alive and can forge new friendships, have fun, enjoy food, dance, sing, write, play softball or golf; we cultivate a sense of belonging and no one questions or mocks our need to continue creating new memories.
In this process of creation, we have the freedom to repress events, rearrange others, and even invent false memories of events that in turn will reshape our image of self. That is another dimension of memories; they are to be “understood as creative blendings of fact and fiction, where images are alchemized by experience and emotion into memories” (Neimark). In other words, our memories are not all a collection of true events, rather they contain both truth and fiction; it is our way of making meaning out of life. The following poem presents a snapshot of such a moment:
MEMORIES, MEMORIES, MEMORIES
One day, as I helped mother clean out her overflowing closet,
She reached into a deep corner and pulled out
a shabby photo album, one I had not seen before.
We stopped our mission for a bit and sat on her bed
to look at pictures, memories of years ago;
memories of summer afternoons, family & friends,
forever young.
She remembered most names,
without hesitation she matched them to faces
preserved over time in this unfamiliar, old album.
Page after page, I listened to stories, moments & memories,
that is, except for one picture:
A handsome, smiling young man in military uniform
is standing beneath a flowering flamboyán tree,
next to mother, so young and also smiling.
I asked: Who is he?
What is his story? Do I know him?
I sensed unwillingness, reticence.
Mother claimed he was a family friend, unimportant;
no use trying to recall his name.
Who is to question her memories?
Who holds the truth?
Memories are what we make of them.
Sometimes they hurt and it seems
the years cannot completely erase heartache.
Other times our perceptions of the past
do not conform with reality.
Instead, we recreate them to our liking,
and convince ourselves they are true.
Memories, memories, memories.
Decades have passed,
mother holds on to her secret truth;
I acquiesce.
No sense in arguing with memories.
Flamboyán – Poinciana tree
Dr. Eric Kandel, Nobel Laureate of Physiology or Medicine 2000, states that “Memory is everything...it allows you to have continuity in your life” (McLeod). Therefore, I say, let us continue creating and recreating memories, mixing fact with fiction, experiences and emotions. Let us continue to make meaning of our lives no matter our chronological age. We are the storytellers –“heroes of our own narrative, a tale that illumines that precious and mysterious self at the center. That ‘I am’ cannot be quantified or conveyed precisely and yet it feels absolute....Memory is malleable – and so are we” (Neimark). No memory is insignificant to us because they are our memories, no one can censor them and no one can take them away.
"Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these."
McLeod, S. A. (2007). Study of Memory in Psychology. Simply Psychology.
Retrieved from http://www.simplypsychology.org/memory.html
Neimark, J. (1995). It’s Magical, It’s Malleable, It’s ...Memory. Psychology Today.
Retrieved from http://www.psychologytoday.com
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