Memories really are nothing more than memories

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Memories really are nothing more than memories
David Trinko dtrinko@limanews.com - 03.13.2007

I just don’t remember having that much of it when I first got out of high school.
I had a little bit more when I graduated college and took my first job here in Lima. Whenever I moved, it seemed like there was a little more and a little more.
This past weekend, when I moved into the first house recorded in my name, I noticed I had a lot more of it than I’m proud to admit.
It’s not my gut, although there’s a bit more of that than I might like too. It’s stuff. It’s junk. It’s garbage I just can’t let myself throw out.
They’re silly little trinkets that have no real value whatsoever. There’s that red, plastic football from the homecoming dance my senior year. There’s that “Dream Team 1998” T-shirt I got the one year for helping compile The Lima News’ all-star team. There’s a plastic basketball from when I organized a high school basketball tournament for a newspaper in Virginia.
It’s all junk. It’s all worthless.
Still, when my wife suggested I trim back my collection of memories, I bristled. And I really don’t know why.
Do I really need to display the “110-percent award” I received in track? Sure, it’s a reminder that I tried hard my senior year. It’s also a reminder that I finished third or worse in the two-mile race dozens of times because I was slow.
What purpose does that spray-paint ocean-view from Cancun play? It was fun to watch the Mexican performer create it with flames and artistry. It was also depressing, as I went to Cancun alone because my girlfriend at the time and I broke up after I’d already purchased the tickets.
What about the softball jerseys for newspaper teams everywhere I’d worked? My claim to fame was always hitting a single to third base but outrunning the throw. Half the time, it also meant I forced out a runner at third base.
They’re all memories of who I was, both as a winner and as a loser.
I’m making plenty of memories now. I’m a husband, a father and a boss, although never two of the three to anyone. Deep down inside, I think I fear losing who I was in favor of who I’ve become.
That’s one of the challenges as an adult male in today’s world. There’s an expectation that you’ll give up some of your childish things to adopt the role society sets for you. Happily, I’ll never put my childishness behind me.
I will, however, let some of those memories become strictly memories. All of those old jerseys are gone now, but I’ll always remember the joy of outrunning a throw to first. Some of those other trinkets are stowed away in boxes now, ready to be conveniently tossed when I’m ready to forget those years. (Or ready for the David Trinko Museum, whichever comes first.)
I finally gave in when I realized junk didn't make me who I am. My reactions to events and humorous stories about them did. It’s not cutting back on who I am to let go of some of it.
Now if I can only talk my waistline into dropping some of those memories from Saturday night’s dinner.
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