papa

In this photo he is young, twenty maybe. I met him later. By then papa changed glasses to more fashionable style in rectangular frames of pale horn. The black wheels in the old photo brought unfamiliar element to his familiar features disturbing in my early childhood, as an inkling that they used to live here before, in the realm unreachable to my memory.

I became aware of the boundaries of my personal memory in the summer of 1960. My family was getting ready for vacation at the place “...where we were last summer…” “Mama, I don’t remember going there last summer!” “It’s because you didn’t go, my dear.” “Where was I?” “You stayed in the village with grandma; you were too young to travel.” “Did Serezha travel?” “Yes.” “But I don’t remember the summer without Serezha!” “But you were too young to remember! You weren’t even talking, yet.”

What a revelation! There was time in my life that I didn’t remember!

For many nights to come I tried to extend my memory beyond the threshold.  The limitations faced on those nights were devastating. Later I learned that people customary put  language labels like god or otherwise what-have-you notions to help to feel ok about limitations. But even though the scare of where I was before birth remained more persisting than the uncertainty of where I go after death.