by Michael Post
Years ago, before I had children and I actually had money, one of my favorite past times was antiquing. I loved spending hours in antique malls and shops learning, remembering and sometimes coveting certain things for my personal collection of unique items.
On one such occasion, while visiting an old factory that had been converted to a sizable antique mall, I saw an old wooden icebox; an item that I always wanted. I spent a considerable amount of time looking this one over, contemplating its worth, and visualizing it in my house. I eventually talked myself out of the purchase due to the price and rationalizing if I really ‘needed’ an icebox. But the whole way home and for days after, the icebox haunted me. I became obsessed with it. The more I thought about the icebox, the more perfect it became and the better the price seemed. Now I had to have it but I knew my conquest would have to wait until the following weekend because of work. Days seemed like weeks as I waited to return and buy the most perfect icebox ever made now gloriously preserved in that antique mall. As I bemoaned the amount of time till the weekend I began to worry and fret over the possibility that someone else could come along and discover this same treasure that I had so carelessly and foolishly left behind. What would I do if someone else snatched up the icebox before I could return and secure it?
With the arrival of the weekend and with all the confidence of a Lord of the Rings character, I headed to the antique mall to claim my ‘precious’… icebox! I parked the car with haste and tried to walk as calmly as I could so as not to tip my hand to anyone else in the mall that day. As I made my way through the maze of booths, my heart raced with anticipation. I was getting close now, turning the last corner, making my way down the isle to were it sat, and there it was, in all of its…. glory? But wait, that doesn’t look like my precious at all. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me or some other would-be possessor had cast a spell on me. I continued anyway until I could get close enough to touch it again, assuring myself that would break any dark magic’s grasp on my senses, but it didn’t, something was wrong… this wasn’t precious at all… as a matter of fact it was quite a sad example of a well-preserved icebox. This icebox’s hinges had been replaced, its door was cracked, the lid was not securely fastened, the inside was undeniable past repair… this was not what I remembered at all. There was no way this could be my icebox. I began to question if I was at the right booth, the right mall even. As I wondered the mall in disbelief, searching for my precious, I became aware that I was at the right mall and that was the icebox, but it was just a normal old ratty icebox. As I stood there disillusioned, staring at it once again, I slowly turned and walked away and returned to my car.
I drove home feeling like someone had stolen Christmas and tried to understand what had happened. As time gave way to reason, I realized my mind had created the most perfect icebox to go along with my earnest desire for it to be so. I saw the icebox and remembered it as I needed and wanted to. My mind had glazed over the cracks and imperfections to provide me with the most perfect memory to enjoy and cherish whenever and as often as I liked, even though it wasn’t completely the truth.
I still think about that old icebox from time to time and the lesson it taught me. Memories can be a funny thing, sometimes all too sharp, while other times far too unreliable. But I’ve come to realize that there are times in our lives and things or people we need to remember just a little bit differently from the way they really were, maybe for our own good or the good of others. Either way, our minds try and glaze over the cracks and imperfections to provide us with the most perfect memory to enjoy and cherish.
I think I share this thought now because I find myself thinking more and more about my dad who passed away just over three years ago. He was not a perfect man and made his share of mistakes but now that he is gone and there are no opportunities for new memories, I find that my existing memories are growing more kind, reasonable and sometimes quite enjoyable. Maybe they are simply becoming icebox memories now as I forget and forgive the imperfections but I think I’m okay with that because it allows me to make peace and miss him. Also, I know that I too have made many mistakes as well and I hope that in time my family and friends will eventually possess icebox memories of me too, remembering me less for what I really was and more for the man that they had hoped I would be.
Michael Post is the helpdesk manager for UWG|Online.
