What do we remember? Or maybe the question should be: how well do we remember? Are our memories to be trusted? How much do we have invested in what we remember?

One of my daughters was hesitant to go play outside after a rainstorm. I asked her why. She said, “I’ll get a cold.” I told her, “You can’t get cold from being cold, you get colds from germs. You could even get a cold in the sunshine. Go outside, have fun.”

What she heard was, “You get colds from the sunshine.” When she told her Gran this, I received a phone call, “what are you telling these children?” This was straightened out quickly, but I realized that she sometimes didn’t hear what I was saying. Another daughter needed to be looking in my eyes for me to get anything across to her. Otherwise, she’d block me out. The third one spent much of her youth trying to get my goat. Poor dear, it was nigh on to impossible to get my goat. When she shaved half of her head I said, “Hair grows, wash up for dinner.” Well, you get the idea.

I know that they have memories of their childhood that I don’t have. First of all, it’s from their perspective. Second, memories are imperfect. We all subjectively look at the past and paint with the colours that suit us. One of my daughters “remembers” that she supported herself from the age of about 15 onwards. I’ve always wanted to ask her how she paid for the roof over her head, or clothes, or food and so on. But that would spoil her “story” and I don’t want to do that. She’s the heroine of her story and that’s okay. She’s got way too much invested on that memory.

So, how did they turn out? About as well as could be expected, I suppose. It’s hard to know what to say about these photos. My neighbour, Gene Cheltenham, was learning how to be a professional photographer. Inevitably, we would end up his subjects. I told him that if he wanted me to sit with the chillies, he would have to supply copious amounts of wine. He did and so I did. The usual insanity ensued. There are a slew of these.

Postscript: what prompted these memories of mine, however faulty they might be, was the news report that you can get a cold from being cold. Ah, the miracles of modern science trump common wisdom yet again. Bugger science, get out there and play!