Test Track

My childhood memories are sparse.

I have childhood memories, strictly speaking, but they feel so feathery and breezy, light and passing rather than vivid and concrete. I remember my childhood the same way I remember dreams, in vignettes rather than as a movie. I don’t know why that is.

One of the few vivid memories I have is when my father took me to the Test Track ride at Disney’s EPCOT Center. Because he worked for GM at the time, we got to go “backstage” into the employee lounge overlooking the ride, and had an express pass to the front of the line.

I still remember how we were escorted to a secret side door, the view of the tall-windowed overlook, and the trappings of the ride itself. I remember, too, that I had a Cherry Coke in a red paper cup. I remember my father taking out his employee badge, out of his massive leather wallet. For me, fleshy memories like these are mythical creatures, rare and special.

I remember feeling so intrigued by the whole affair, it was a glimpse into my father’s life outside our family. And I remember the rare occurrence of my father at play, relishing the speed of the ride and the freeness of the wind around us, perhaps even glowing in the humble pride that comes from getting your family a VIP treatment.

And I remember too, how the ride was a bit fast and jerky for me at that age, and that I was comforted just by my father being in the vehicle next to me, his laughter and enjoyment signaling that there was nothing to be scared of.

I wish so badly I had more memories like this - visceral and detailed - of my childhood generally, but especially with my father. I want to remember more, and more of him. I can’t understand why I don’t.

With my own sons, I want to remember so many things of our time together, too. The big stuff, yes, but also the mundane.

Like afternoons in the garden, or cleaning our house, or just having an ice cream cone on Friday nights. And I think I will. Thanks to Robyn, we are blessed to have lots of photos and lots of moments where we tell old stories - it’s like she innately knows how to preserve memories, and she does it lovingly and skillfully.

I want to remember every moment of time I can with my sons and my wife. But I too hope that our relationship is loving, strong, and cherished enough for them to want to remember time with me.