THE PAST IS NEVER PAST

Right after New Years Day I realized I had some stray yesterdays lying around. What to do with yesterdays in a tomorrow-minded culture?

Then it occurred to me. Whenever we come across old photos, love letters, music tapes, even check stubs, they capture our imagination. Gaps like time, space and generations seem to melt into a kind of impressionistic mural of our life. Suddenly no past, no present, no future. The painting becomes a single revelation of our days here.

Well, if random yesterdays can do that, maybe they're worth cherishing more than we do. Not just because of the comfort old memories hum, but because of the chorus of new possibilities they can still sing.

Heroes...? Jackknifed into the back seats of my neighborhood movie house during WWII, heroes were painted for me in great swatches of gritty red, white and blue. Today, so many failed icons. And yet from what I incandescently remember, they did exist. And can exist. So I seek them still.

Friendships...? When Johnny firmly caught my outstretched hand from the cold waters on that ice-cracking day, I understood what it meant. The burst of illumination from such a yesterday tells me to believe still.

Wisdom...? I watched Ms. Jenkins day after day handing us the keys to the kingdom of truth in her literature class. Her passion for the beauty of truth lite our fires. She remains a memory which insists embers of great truths can still be found. And fanned. And felt.

Duty...? I calculate Mom prepared 37,230 meals throughout the yesterdays of her marriage. Not exactly a banner in the book of feminism, and surely not always moments of personal fulfillment. And yet, the pedigree of her yesterdays sheds light on this easily neglected value of old-fashioned duty.

Honor...? At his age, my Father was exempt from service in that war. But escaping the honor of duty was for him unthinkable. Honor like that may be harder to find in our more self-serving todays, yet his example shines through the years. And, for me, cuts through the cynicism.

I see it this way. The past is not past. It is never past whenever its brightest moments are recalled. And re-lived. That's why there are books...and ballads...and theatres...and, oh yes, old photo albums to hold and share what was best about yesterday.