TAKING THE TIME TO TEST YOUR MEMORIES

Memories are the specialty of the elderly. After all, we have more to work with. But to be sure your memories are authentic, not simply imagined, occasionally they should be time-tested. Say like trying them out on your grandchildren. At one time or another, I've shared some of these to get a reaction. For instance...

I remember the news when it was reported in the press with far fewer hysterical photos, and on television without screaming graphics; more straight-on reportage that made it easier to think about rather than panic about it.

I remember when advertising had fewer tools in its kit-box, so the message had to be simpler and -- of all things! -- factual. Like when they pitched a car, they talked about what it could do, more than how it made you feel.

I remember movies with real dialog. Not only well crafted words, but words you could hear without straining. There was a pervasive sense that these were real people struggling with real situations; not real computers exploding un-real escapes.

I remember home teams in which most of the players were actually from the home town. Actually stayed with their team throughout most of their career. What's more -- what's hard to still remember! -- the players' passion for the game usually exceeded their lawyer's passion for breaking their contracts.

I remember the armed forces as being for us, not for hire. With universal drafts, the military was the kid next door; and what they did right was promoted more than what they did wrong. Wars were no better then than today; only then there were still vast reservoirs of innocence and pride to make the word patriotism seem like the right, not the wrong, thing to feel.

I even remember when kids dated, not hooked up. When dancing not motels was the most exciting way to hold one another. When blushing girls were really virgins, and bragging guys were really too. Too Puritan? Too repressed? Too hypocritical? Probably so, but still too endearing to completely discount.

Oh, and I remember when members of the clergy were people just a little apart from the rest of us. They were seen -- and usually proved! -- their calling was something higher than the rest of us walked. Whether or not the images were totally true didn't matter, because what mattered was there were those among us who stood for something better in us.

Well...I occasionally try one or two of these memories out on my wonderful grand-kids. So far, they haven't laughed in my face. Maybe behind my back. But, then again, maybe not. Because I get the impression they suspect they've missed something. Something good.