Think of all the times you defended your memory. You were adamant about how an event happened or what a person did. Sometimes our memories are fuzzy, but other times they are crystal clear.
One such time happened a few years ago. We were hosting a family birthday party at our house. My husband was talking about our cross-country trip in 1989. I heard him say we picked up a hitchhiker on our trip. When I heard this come out of his mouth from across the room, I abandoned my conversation, and sped to his. What was he talking about? We never pick up hitchhikers and certainly would never have picked one up on a back dirt road with a baby in the car. I disputed his memory with a vengeance. My family, knowing me to a T, also believed Chris’ memory faulty. I left the conversation incredulous that he could even have mixed up picking up a hitchhiker from his earlier single days to picking one up with our new baby in the car.
After the guests had left and the last of the leftovers were sealed in Tupperware, we went back to the hitchhiker. It came to me that I kept a log of our trip, like I do of most trips. I could finally provide the proof I needed to get the hitchhiker out of Chris’ mind. Luckily I am fairly organized and located the log within a relatively small amount of time. Here is what it said with a brief background setting the stage:
When we moved from Los Angeles back to the east coast, our older son was the only son at that point, having been born in Santa Monica Hospital. He was 17 months old at the time of the long trip. He was a great traveler, loving the camping adventures, the hikes, and just spending time with mommy and daddy. After all, we had both quit our full time jobs to move, so now we were with him 24/7.
We had purchased a new Toyota van for the trip and were a week into our 25-day venture. We had just spent the night camping in Great Basin National Park in Utah. This was a new park, established only three years earlier in 1986. The camping was secluded, and I vividly remember washing the dishes and pan from our tuna casserole in the icy cold river, since there was no running water in the park. It was a windy, rainy night with a low of 40 degrees.
The next morning, after breakfast at the Visitor Center, we set out towards Beaver, Utah, where we made our lunch stop. Since we had a very loose plan for this cross-country trip, we continuously consulted the map and tweaked the next leg of our journey. My husband, always a fan of back roads, spotted one on the map during our lunch. It was a 40-mile dirt road from Beaver to Junction, Utah. I was and still am not a fan of dirt roads. I was less a fan then, traveling with a 17 month old. I know our van was brand spanking new, but still… Being a team player however, I finally broke down and agreed to give it a try. We were on our way to Capitol Reed National Park and this would certainly be a shorter route.
There were two general configurations of passengers for our trip. If the baby was due to fall asleep in the back, then we could both ride in front. If it was his ‘awake’ time however, one of us always stayed in the back with him to read to him, play games, or generally just hang out. This was an ‘awake’ time, so I was riding in the back with him, reading one of his Sesame Street books.
The secluded road was mostly gravel, which made it very bumpy and slow going. About one-third through the road, while we were still climbing up the mountain pass, we spotted a man standing outside his truck, which had broken down. The hairs on my arms stood up as I stiffened and told Chris to just keep on driving. I thought it was a trap. He responded that we couldn’t just leave him there abandoned on a dirt road, miles from anywhere. I insisted he keep driving because we had the baby in the car. But, he stopped and we gave the man a lift the rest of the way on the dirt road to Junction, Utah. He was a little older than us and didn’t say much. I was stiff as a board the whole ride and didn't do much talking. I could tell the baby was curious about this new person in our car too.
When we got to Junction, the man thanked us and he went on his way. Never again… I made my husband promise. Although it turned out ok, I was a nervous wreck, so much so that I obviously completely repressed that memory. By finding my log of our trip, I thought I would be able to prove the way I remembered it right, but just the opposite happened.
The moral of the story is even when you know you are right, you might not be.
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