I have a memory of myself sitting at the top of the stairs as a small child—rough, wooden stairs that led up from the garage to the house. I’ve even referred to it in my writings, but some of my studies in memories have made me wonder if it a false memory—or, at least, not a perfect literal memory. Is our reliance on our recollections (or those of others) a fallacy of memory?
My memory as a child
The house must have been built on an incline, but I do not remember how it was situated other than sitting on the first step at the top of the stairs. I may have been holding a stuffed animal. I was wearing light blue shorts and a white and blue striped shirt. My hair was blond, cut short, but even with the short cut, the curliness was evident. The large garage door was open, and I was looking out at the driveway to the street.
I was mourning the loss of my bike. I had forgotten to put it inside the garage when I finished riding the day before. Someone had taken it during the night. I remember telling my parents, and neither seemed upset about the loss itself, apart from consoling me for the loss I felt. I recall they were matter of fact: yes, unfortunately some people steal things. You have to be careful. My young mind was stunned. Why would someone do that? They wouldn’t like someone taking something of theirs—why would they do it to someone else? It made no sense to me.
Looking back on it, I think my parents it as a lesson about the human condition. People can be selfish, rude, and even evil. Don’t become cynical about the world, just accept it. And be responsible, put things away, do what you are supposed to do.
Research on the fallacy of memory
Many years ago, during my pursuit of a law degree, I studied about memory and eyewitness recall. The science and research shows that memory is often highly unreliable. The farther away in time the event is, the less accurate our recollection. Why is this? Because later events, our experience in life, and the passage of time causes our minds to retell the memory and mix it with other, connected ideas. We can even remember experiencing an event in person that never happened to us through associated memories, experiences, and hearing or reading about others’ experiences.
Do I remember accurately that morning at the top of the stairs? I find this fact interesting: the memory is not of me sitting staring out, looking through my young eyes, but as if someone had filmed me from the front of the garage. I was seeing myself, this little tow-headed boy, at the top of the stairs, looking out into the street. Is that just the way I recall it because I can’t remember the feeling of actually sitting there? Or did I not really remember that event, but am merely recalling my parents telling me about it many years later? Or did it even happen to me?
I do recognize the house in the memory, located in a town in Tennessee, but we lived there was when I was quite young—just a toddler. Would I have had a bike? Maybe a little tricycle…but the memory is of a typical two-wheeler. Yet bike would make more sense when I was older, when we lived in Florida. I know I had a two-wheeler bike then. I would have been about 8 or 9 years old, and I know I had a two-wheeler. One of the details I remember (or think I remember) is leaving the bike (a two-wheeler) out on the ice plants between the sidewalk and our front yard. That was in Florida. Was that just a memory of how we would sometimes crash our bikes (purposely) onto the ice plants, because we would not be injured when we fell on the thick, gel-filled vines. Yet I have no memory of having a bike stolen—only of my dad telling me to bring my bike inside so no one would steal it.
I remember other things about that little boy and the stairs to the garage. Feelings, scenes, some still-shots. But maybe those memories were just from pictures and stories of my life that my parents told me later. Yet in my mind, recall sitting at the top of the stairs, mourning the loss of my bike, because it had been stolen. I remember my parents’ reaction.
Did I conflate a number of my own memories, with things I experienced and was told about later? Did that actual event, recalled from my memory bank, ever happen? In any form?
How do we know what is real?
Studies on the unreliability of memory and eyewitness account is disturbing, because if we can’t rely on our memories, how do we know what is real?
Perhaps it doesn’t matter much, except in lawsuits and courtrooms, whether memory is accurate or not. After all, what difference does it make if our brains take the emotions, lessons, and events and alter and reinterpret them by our later lives. Like we do with fiction—or at least, good fiction, we can look beyond literal events and experiences to find meaning, to reinterpret for our own use, and even see them anew with different meanings.
Or perhaps it does matter, in the sense that we should re-think how we treat our memories. That we should have some humility about what we believe happened long ago—especially when it causes us to judge others or imbue meaning into long-past events—and offer grace to ourselves and others.
