My cousin, ten years older than me, remembers a lot more about my childhood than I do. He remembers my parents before they were married. He was five years old when they got married. He lives on the other side of the country now, and it's always great to talk with him on the phone. He reminds me of things that I have long since forgotten. Since I am the sole survivor of my immediate family, he is my long-term family memory.
Here's one other memory that came back to me years later:
IN 1969, my family took a vacation at the end of the summer. We went to Williamsburg, then down the Skyline Drive. When we got near to Staunton, VA the road was blocked. Hurricane Camille had passed through, flooded the valley, and backed up all the sewer systems. I was sorely disappointed we couldn't drive further, since the thought of thousands of backed up toilets was a sight that any six year old boy would give their best Tonka toy to see. As a consolation prize, my father took this picture of me, standing on the stone wall of the Skyline Drive, with the valleys below. I felt special.
Skip ahead thirty years and one of my best friends is a guy who grew up in that valley. He looked at this photo and knew not only exactly where I was standing, but where he was that day: directly behind me, in that valley, riding around with his mother and her boyfriend, surveying the flood damage. The only reason that i remembered that day was because of the backed up toilets. My friend remembered it because so many people in his town had been killed and so many more left homeless. And that his mother's boyfriend was looting houses that had been in the flood's path. His mother cried in the car as he went into a destroyed home and brought out a crystal chandelier. They didn't stay together long after that day.
Such a beautiful day, I'm a happy kid. In the valley below is death, destruction and tears.
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