Fill Me Up

Oliver was a humble 8 year old. He and I would meet at the pond behind my house; we called it a lake because, to us, it was as if this "lake" stretched into the sky. Truth be told, we were runts for our age, and this is probably why it seemed so vast. He was only two inches taller than me at 4 ft. or so, and my voice was a complete octave lower than his. Oliver would pack his overall pockets with bubblegum and taffy, and I would bring fruit drinks to our secret meeting spot. We would share the minutiae of our school days and our home life; listening intently, Oliver was quite a friend...we were quite a pair. The afternoon before our last day of school Oliver was a bit late arriving to our secret hideaway, which was out of character for him. When his freckled face finally appeared through the thicket he was hunched over recovering from a long run, stealing breaths from the sterile South GA air...but man was Oliver beaming! He reached into his sock and pulled out the smallest Swiss Army knife I have ever seen. This was the day that Oliver and I paid tribute to our puerile love, or at least, what we understood it to be then. On the strongest tree rooted in the bank of that pond, we carved our initials as proof that Oliver and C would be friends forever. Sadly, when you're 8 forever is fleeting, and Oliver moved to Minnesota with his family the following year. I thought of Oliver today while listening to a radio interview with a professor who was in the building that was attacked during the VA Tech "massacre." He was discussing his feelings about building a memorial for those who were lost and said that he preferred not to have the memorial under the building where the shooting took place and this was his explanation, or as best as I can remember it:

He said every day he walks into that building and remembers his colleagues and the students who were lost. He also remembers that he has a mission, just as they did. He said that he does not need a tangible symbol to remember these lost friends, because their legacy lives within him and within the permanently damaged walls of that building. So, he wanted to leave this building intact because it alone serves as a memorial for those lost. There was a memorial put up on VA Tech campus, but not under that particular building.


As I was passing the private school on the way to work after hearing that story I started thinking about what that professor said regarding people's desire to have tangible symbols. I noticed the Jaguar in my rear view mirror and the Hummer pulling out of the private school. My eyes settled on my right ring finger and saw the heirloom that is now mine. I thought of Oliver and our tree.

Why isn't the legacy enough? What is so inaccessible about a memory? We know what love is. We can remember what love was. We remember sharing juice boxes.

Then I thought about my classroom. Why, if people have an ample amount of money, must they drive that Escalade and carry the Dolce and Gabbana handbag? Why not take a trip, experience another culture, live a day in another's shoes. No, you can't put your memories safely into the silk pocket and clasp the diamond fastener. No one can look at you or your stuff and know that you have experienced the world, but isn't a South American sunrise better than a souvenir from a gift shop or an $800 pair of shoes? Just knowing, remembering, and experiencing that growth; why can't those things fill us up? Why do we fill up our space with things?

I remember Oliver and his freckles, and his sincerity...we didn't need that old pine.

My lesson on symbolism has just expanded. Let's study it in the context of everyday life.