character

  My wife often says, you have such wonderful memories, after I tell her another one of my many stories. There is a reason for that, it is because that is what I choose to recall. That sentiment was best expressed by Merle Haggard in a song lyric, when he sang, everything does change except what you choose to recall. I find so much truth in that statement. I recall all the good times, the good things that happened to me and others over the years. I have a tendency to just push the bad aside, forget about it, and move ahead. I realized a long time ago you can't change the past, you have to learn to live with it. So for that reason I put the bad away, tuck it in the attic or the back of a closet, and forget it. Yes, it's still there and I will stumble on them every now and again, but they don't bother me much. 

  I find I have far more amusing stories from my youth than I do from my adult life. And yes, there is a dividing line for me, clearly defined. That line was drawn when I stepped on the Long Island railroad heading west to Fort Hamilton, New York. That happened on August the 8th, 1971. I wasn't alone, I was accompanied by a close friend who was also beginning his journey. We were both inducted into the United States Navy, active duty, on 9 August 1971. From Fort Hamilton we were bused to the airport, boarded a plane for the first time in our lives and were flown to Chicago. At O'hare international airport we boarded a bus and were transported to Great Lakes Naval Training Command. Adulthood had begun! I was on my own from that point on. Once I had placed my personal effects in a shipping box, that was the clothes on my back, right down to my underwear, I was there, naked, facing the world. Issued a set of dog tags and now dressed in government issue it was a sobering moment. This was the real thing. 

 There aren't many things from boot camp, the subsequent training school I attended or my first ship that I choose to remember. All of that is just tucked away somewhere. I didn't know it then but the next 22 years would be filled with the Navy. Oh, there was a short pause, two years only, and then the adventure, as it was advertised back then, continued. On 1 Nov 1993 I retired from the Navy and that was that. Hard to believe that was 27 years ago. Stuff has happened since then but not much to tell stories about. Fact is, the vast majority of my stories are from my childhood days. I suppose it is because it was such a warm and safe time in my life. It is home. They say home is where the heart is and I understand that sentiment, although I don't necessarily agree with that totally. I carry my heart with me, home is just a fond memory. 

 I think maybe I enjoy sharing those stories so much because they go undisputed. There is no one from my childhood here to do that. Certainly some of my tales have been embellished a bit, to make the story a bit more interesting, and we all remember things that way we wished they had been more than the way they actually were, but no one can offer another version. That is reserved for when you are with family and old friends. Three of my immediate family members are gone now and so no corrections from them. My mom and brother live in Georgia and I haven't seen either of them in a long while. That's the sad part about growing up and getting older. Now, for me anyway, family get togethers usually are surrounded by some tragic event or some other disruption. Only in Hallmark movies are there family reunions that end up in a love fest. My experience says otherwise, but like I said, that's my experience. Still I have my memories, my stories, and I enjoy reliving them. I take comfort in knowing should I pass my wife could tell the stories, she knows them all as good as I do. She's heard them all often enough. 

 I wonder how old I'll have to be before I start telling stories that took place after 1971. Fact is I have told a couple, just a brief accounting, but no stories told with the enthusiasm of those childhood tales. But then maybe I don't want to tell those stories for other reasons. Perhaps I am afraid to expose some of my secrets. We all have secrets. It could be that they really aren't secrets, but become secrets with the telling. A sort of personal accounting. I can tell the stories of my youth with a built in excuse, I was just a kid. The stories of adulthood there are no excuses for. If you tell of all the good things you have done you will be thought of as a braggart. If you tell the stories of your failures, lapses in judgement or just plain stupidity, well, that doesn't do much for you. Turns out, being an adult is a catch 22 situation. Who knew? 

 Well we all tell stories based on our audience. That audience today, for me, is my wife, my children and my grandchildren. They are the primary recipients and the audience whose opinion I value the most. All the others I have interacted with over the years probably have different tales to tell. I remember hearing tales about my father, from his friends, tales about some of the "adventures" he had. Very amusing to me but Dad wasn't so amused. I'm sure you know what I mean. Yup, Dad did some pretty foolish, reckless, and downright dumb things! He would say to me, you know better than that! Turns out, he knew better too, but did it anyway. He never told me anything about that stuff. 

 Who are we? Are we the conglomerate of our stories? I think we are, at least in our own minds. Perhaps that is the reason we remember the things that we do. It could also be the reason for the stories we choose to tell. I've no desire to be a hero and hope not to be forgotten. I would hope for somewhere in-between. If it can be said, he was a good guy, that would be enough. I guess what I want most of all is to leave a few stories behind. To be a character in folklore would be quite the accomplishment.