Self-Made Mom

Long before the advent of digital cameras, phones with video and the internet, my parents would tell us to record the experiences of our youth to our memory.  My dad would instruct us, “put it in the memory book.”

On our various sojourns to the western-most parts of the country we’d pass by the huge mountains of Colorado, awestruck at their beauty. We’d see buffalo roaming the great plains of Wyoming. We’d gaze in disbelief at the massive redwoods in California. We’d capture what we can on our old 35mm, but what I remember most about those trips were what we didn’t record, those memories we would talk about late at night near the roaring fire or in the car on the way to the next destination.

Those became the photos of my memory book.

I always thought along the way that the memory book was just mine to cherish, but as I grew, I realized my parents’ memories were richer and deeper than any my 10-year-old brain could remember. They relied on these memories as we grew older and vacationed less with them. (My current trip not included.)

Now, with blogs, flickr, podcasts, web conference calls, we don’t need to rely on our memories as we used to. Technology does it for us.  We can click on the details, replay the memories on a whim rendering the memory book almost obsolete.  As a parent, this is an incredible luxury; we don’t miss a thing.

But we cannot possibly capture the essence of a parental memory solely on a 14-second grainy video. I realized this yesterday when I put my son on skis for the first time. This was a moment I had dreamed of since I was a child - skiing with my child.  And when it happened, the 7-megapixel photo couldn’t truly do the squeals and shrieks of laughter eminating from my son justice.

Memory: on skis, age 2

But at least it will help trigger my memory book should my mind fail me one day. I’m not above technology helping remind me why I became a mother.

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