Memory Serves Me

I remember the lesson but not the details

I found myself sitting in the hallway of Starrett Junior High School in Lander, Wyoming, one spring afternoon. The hallway was bathed in warmth, illuminated by sunlight streaming through the large glass windows. From my vantage point, knees drawn up and back against the cool, white brick wall, I could see the vibrant green of the grass and the expanse of the football field.

The reason for my solitary reflection in the hallway eludes my memory. Had I been ousted for cheating, or was this simply an unconventional setting for a gym test, given the lack of desks? The details blur, but the presence of my teacher, a figure whose name and face have faded from memory, remains clear. I recall only his legs, planted firmly before me as I hung my head in shame, his posture one of unmistakable disdain. Sort of like a cartoon scenario where you never see the adults heads or faces but only hear their muffled voices.

The absurdity of my situation was not lost on me. Of all subjects in which to compromise my integrity, I had chosen golf—an activity I found exceedingly tedious and thus had paid little attention to during class. Bo-ring. (Although as an adult, I do love the sport.) When faced with a written test, my preparation was lacking, leading me to scribble as many answers as possible on my hands for referral later.

The naivety of thinking such a tactic would go unnoticed astounds me in retrospect. Yet, it did not escape detection, and there we stood: me, slumped against the wall, and he, demanding I reveal my ink-stained hands. I remember the act of turning them over slowly to reveal my sweaty, shaking palms. There was no way out of this one - no possible explaining away the terms of “birdie” and “hole in one” scribbled on my skin.

Despite the humiliation, the incident earned me a certain notoriety among my peers. My dubious ingenuity in writing on myself and cheating on such a seemingly inconsequential test was met with a mix of amusement and admiration—a reaction I found little comfort in. I just remember embarrassment and shame no matter how cool people thought my act was.

The aftermath, including any probable tedious punishment from my father, fades into the periphery of my recollection. Likely, my father imposed a regimen of daily reflective essays on the virtues of honesty. Whatever the consequence, it served its purpose; I never again succumbed to the temptation of cheating in school.

This memory, with its vivid yet selective details, fascinates me as does the complex nature of memory itself. It's intriguing to me how our minds choose to shield us, sequestering certain memories while vividly preserving others. Psychiatrists explain this phenomenon as dissociation—a protective mechanism where the brain "walls off" traumatic experiences. This ability to disconnect, to preserve our mental well-being, underscores the resilience and benevolence of the mind.

While not “traumatic,” my youthful indiscretion was impactful enough to still be with me. It is actually humorous to me now - one of many silly mistakes (and probably one of the least damaging ones) made on the path to adulthood. It’s not solely about the folly of a bad decision, rather the complex and impressive adaptability and strength of our minds. In thinking about this memory, I am reminded not only the consequences of my actions (shame and embarrassment) and the importance of integrity but also about the mind's capacity to overcome, adapt, and protect. The resilience of the mind is perhaps the most valuable lesson of all, reminding us of our inherent ability to face adversity, learn, and grow. Thanks, brain. I appreciate you!