Archived Memories – The Word Searches

I wanted to start a series about those long-forgotten memories that loosen themselves from the amber in your mind and bubble to the surface as you get older.  It’s a strange phenomenon, but even someone with a terrible memory experiences this as the years go on. A smell, a song, a word or phrase releases a memory that you packed away years ago in favor of new information, like how to copy and paste on your laptop or how to bake chicken without drying it out.

To be candid, the first few of these out of the gate were a gigantic bummer.  My childhood was pretty bleak and shitty, without much fun to detail.  Even this one is pretty lame, but at least it’s worth dissecting.

The last time I lived in Syracuse, New York was during my eighth-grade school year, 1985-1986.  My parents had separated recently and we were living with my great aunt and my mother.  Mom was working, and my Dad was…well…I really don’t know where he was or what he was doing.  I was in middle school, going through puberty and wondering what the hell was going to happen. I had transition from playing with my Legos and action figures (of which I had given away to younger cousins) and I was now trying to figure out popular music, movies, and girls all on my own.

I was a kid.  I was 13 or so but I didn’t know anything about being a teenager and I wasn’t thrilled about learning anything either. I spent my time figuring out what I liked to do with my time. One weekend or so, I spent the entire time making word search puzzles.  Yeah, some kids snuck out to drink or smoke a joint or hook up with girls.  Some went to the mall to hang out with friends or to the roller rink or the skate park.  I was in my great aunt’s living room, complete with a doily on every wooden surface, writing up word search puzzles.

Not solving them in a book.  Creating them. By hand.

I think I had recently solved a bunch from a book, maybe when I had the flu for a week that winter.  That part I don’t remember.  I don’t know the why.  I only know the what.  I think I made around ten puzzles, in pencil, on loose leaf paper.  I made themed puzzles, like rock bands that I had heard of, my brother’s favorite skateboard brands, my cousins and words from their world.  A whole bunch of puzzles for other people with clues relating specifically to them.

(This activity may sound familiar to anyone who received a mix tape from me from 1988 to 2000 or so. Yeah.  300 tapes and about 50 CD’s.  All for other people.)

Now, unlike the mix tapes, no one has ever seen these word searches.  That’s right.  I kept them to myself.  To solve at another time, you may wonder?  I honestly do not know.  Maybe by the time I finished them I was too embarrassed to give them away, or I never had any plans to share.  I could have had that in mind.  I’ll make these now for when I’m stuck at home and need something to do in the future.  Whatever the reason, it’s a little crazy.

I forgot all about these, of course.  They came back in a flash when I was going through old shit when I moved last year.  They survived the first purge of old junk when I moved to Oregon and made it all the way to 2020. There in an old folder with ancient photos taken with cheap cameras. I couldn’t believe it.  We don’t have a single dish or glass from our wedding shower left but I still have those stupid word searches. 

Yeah, I can imagine me pulling those out when I’m a retiree and I’m having a lazy Tuesday afternoon.  I’d laugh and circle the words in each of them, trying to remember the inspiration. That would satisfy some weird cycle of boring that began in the 1980’s with no guidance and ended in an aging man with gray hair who fights depression on a daily basis. But I don’t want to.  That’s movie crap.  I don’t need to love that 13-year-old.  I already do.  I already did, in some way.  It was my way through.  Even if I didn’t love myself out of low self-worth, I still gave a shit.  I was, at the very least, curious about the outcome.  I was coping with my life exploding and that’s what I did. 

I’d rather take a walk in the woods.  A nice dinner.  Experience something new.

It’s really just a memory.  No need to put any undue weight where it doesn’t belong.  I’m sure I have some doozies that will come back as I get older.  I think I will file it away in a nice place in my head.  I like to have evidence that proves that deep down, I’m not an asshole.  It was a nice, sweet, boring memory.