Recollections Are in the Eye of the Beholder

I remember the day although it was so long ago.  Voraciously, I try to remember it, just as I have remembered it all these years, but the ebb of time washes away the sands of reality, leaving my imagination to run wild.  The dull imagination of an adult plays over the vivid recollections of an eight-year-old.

            It began as any sunny day of a summer vacation does.  The freedom from schoolwork would allow me to do just about whatever my heart’s content could conceive of, or at least what my loving parents would permit me to do.  My uncle was in town visiting and had plans to go into the city.  My parents had to work, but allowed him to take me along. This would be my first time going to the city off the leash of my parents.  How exciting!

            My uncle was a friendly, quiet young man.  He had told me the main purpose of his trip was to go to a store that was so specific to what he was looking for, that he had to go in person.  Whatever it was he was looking to purchase he dared not attempt to order it online.  

            I reminisce my first trip on the train that was to take us into the city.  My uncle handing me my ticket, going up the stairs, keeping up with my uncle at every step.  While we waited at the station I can recall standing at the painted yellow line along the concrete edge, and once stepping on the line to see what might happen, only to discover my uncle gently tugging on my shoulder with his hand and giving me a fair warning.  Somehow, he managed to keep one eye on me while the other was on his phone.

            I can’t remember if the smell of the train I have in my head is from that trip or from the hundreds of train rides I had in my life since that day.  A saddened mixture of stale perfume, alcohol, and fake leather circulated amongst the passengers.  From the rail, I sat and watched mesmerized as the towns sped by, then over the bridge and underground, leading us into the city. All of which was invigorating for a boy of my age.  As we neared the station I remember the nervousness about possibly missing it and then what would happen?  Yet, my uncle calmly led me off the train at the correct station and up to the streets of the city.  

            The hot summer air hit us in the face as it mixed with the rank cool exhaustion below in the station.  The streets surprised us as they were more crowded than we, or mainly my uncle, had expected.  I remember by uncle grabbing me by the hand and leading me through the throng of city-dwellers.  He had a fast pace, but I kept up.  I imagined we were on a mission, perhaps as spies in enemy territory and had to make it to a location by a certain time, or else!  

            He led me several blocks following his GPS on his phone. At least I believe that was what he was doing.  He kept his nose in his phone the entire time we were on the move.  I was surprised we did not end up more lost than we were.  After thirty minutes of running around the city blocks my uncle admitted that he could not locate the store he so desperately wanted to find.  I recall mentioning I was thirsty which woke my uncle up from his daydreams and persuaded him to stop to get us a drink. 

            We happened to be crossing a city park and started searching for a shaded bench to sit and relax.  For a beautiful summer day, I can remember how open the park was and we had no trouble at all in finding a bench.  Next to us sat a well-dressed gentleman who appeared to be rehearsing something to himself, reading papers, while staring off at an imaginary audience.  

My uncle was heavily engaged in his phone trying to discern where this imaginary store of his existed.  Meanwhile, I sat and watched this other man talk to himself until he noticed my staring.  Having noticed my lemonade, he asked where he could get one as his throat was parched.  I glanced at my uncle who didn’t hear his question so I spoke up and pointed to a beverage cart at the far end of the park.  He thanked me and left us to our solitude.  I remember watching the squirrels run about and wondered where they lived in the middle of this large city.  Surely, they cannot all live in this one park.

Suddenly, I began to notice the park grew more crowded.  People were standing around a podium that I not seen up until this point.  I asked my uncle what was going on.  Having no idea, we both got up and went over to see.  I was surprised to see the gentleman who was sitting next to us on the bench was now up at the podium starting to talk.  The atmosphere became dense as the crowd was quiet listening to him talk.  I cannot recall what was said or discussed.  What my memory does bring back is that everyone had their phones out presumably filming or photographing this man.  This man who just shortly before, I had taken for a nervous, shy, lonesome man, was now alive and energetic in the midst of his community.  

We stood there listening for some time.  My uncle was even enthralled by this man’s way of speech.  Those around us were saying how he had a way with words.  As long as he spoke the phones remained at attention doing their duty for their owners.  The sun shone that day on the heads of those in that park, but little did they know who they were listening to.  This man who had the speech of a sorcerer would one day become the president of our nation.  This spellbinder, who asked my uncle and I where we got our lemonade.  

I vaguely remember the train ride home, or if we even made it to the destination spot my uncle had traveled to go to in the first place.  What I do remember is that my uncle kept his face in his phone almost the entire day.  I wish he had opened his eyes to his surroundings that day and beheld the beauty of a summer day in a congested city.  He would never realize the importance of our short interaction with the man in the park or that we heard a speech with our own ears that would grow to become a speech taught in schools all over the nation.  

Sometimes I confuse my feelings and memories from that day in the city with my uncle and the very next day.  One can easily mix days and memories, like stirring paints to create a new color, only to learn that you have distorted the color to something you never wished for in the first place, or you are left pleasantly surprised by what you have created.  I remember sitting at the dinner table with my parents and my father receiving the phone call.  The sudden outburst of emotion, the tears.  I remember the food on the table became obsolete.  Leading up to that day my life seemed to have two parts.  The first was everything up to my trip to the city with my uncle and hearing that speech in the park.  The second was everything after my uncle’s death the following day. 

That day in the city was ours together, and while it grew to become an important day in our nation’s history, it was even more significant to me personally.  A day does not go by where I try to recollect the memory of that day, my uncle, or that man in the park.  The current of time laps at the shores of memory.  Details of that day have changed over the years and will undoubtedly continue to do so, but the life of that eight-year-old has changed for the better.