I Remember When
Dan hated his mum’s stories about funny things he did as a child – until social media threw up a few memories…
Elaine Crowley relished a traditional Sunday lunch.
She had enjoyed all the barbecues she’d shared with her son Dan and his young family over the summer months, but with the cooler weather now, they were all gathered indoors around the dining room table.
“Isn’t this lovely?” she beamed. “I remember when my mum was still alive, we always had a Sunday roast. It was on the table at one o’clock sharp, and …”
Dan glanced up from carving the chicken and caught his mother’s eye.
“Is this going to be one of your trips down Memory Lane again, Mum?”
“No, no, of course not.” Elaine knew it irritated her son when she reminisced.
Thankfully, the moment of tension evaporated as three-year-old Alfie roared, “Chicken! My favourite!”
“And mine!” agreed seven-year-old Grace, holding her plate out to Dan.
“Chicken was your daddy’s favourite too. I remember the first time he cooked a roast chicken.” Elaine caught her twelve-year-old granddaughter’s eye. “He’d have been a bit older than you, Livvy. He didn’t know that there was a plastic bag containing the giblets inside the chicken, and it all got roasted!”
Laughing, she remembered Dan’s horror when he realised his mistake.
“Eww, Daddy! Plastic in the chicken!” Grace giggled.
Dan did not.
“Tell us another story, Nanna.” Grace loved Elaine’s amusing anecdotes.
“Well, Sunday dinnertime probably isn’t the time for a story,” Elaine murmured, noting her son’s expression.
“That’s right.” he agreed. “Besides, Nanna’s had her memory for today.”
Elaine wasn’t sure when Dan had instigated the one-memory-only-per-day policy, but he invoked it if Elaine started to tell too many tales about the past.
“You know the rules …”
Dan sounded stern. Looking up guiltily, Elaine breathed a sigh of relief when she realised her son wasn’t addressing her.
“No phones at the dinner table, Livvy,” he warned.
“I’m not texting, Daddy. I’m taking a photo of my dinner,” Livvy protested. “It’s for school. We have to keep a record of what we eat for a week, and I’m doing a visual diary.”
Livvy’s phone emitted a series of shutter-like clicks, and then she slipped it back into her pocket.
“Good idea! I’ll take a few pictures for Facebook while we have full plates.”
Becca, Dan’s wife, took out her own phone and captured some shots of her dinner before taking a snap of the family gathered around the table.
“Tag me, will you please, Becca?” Elaine asked, secretly proud of being au fait with Facebook lingo.
Elaine had had a Facebook account for several years now but hadn’t posted anything in a while, and she’d certainly never shared any pictures of her food!
In fact, Elaine had never really understood the obsession with pictures of food on social media. It had been quite the craze a few years ago. For a while, every time she opened Facebook there would be images of someone’s dinner, lunch or latte staring at her.
At least the food pictures were preferable to some of the strange things that people posted.
The potty-training pictures that Becca had posted of little Alfie sprang to mind.
At the time, Elaine had wondered if Alfie might object to pictures of himself sitting on his Thomas & Friends potty and all his ‘successes’ and ‘accidents’ being broadcast to sundry friends and family via Facebook.
Of course, she’d kept her thoughts to herself. Elaine tried not to interfere or talk out of turn. Now, if only she could stop irritating Dan with her stories from the past…
With renewed determination, Elaine resolved not to spoil her time with the family by reminiscing, and the rest of the meal passed without incident… until Becca decided she would take some photos of her empty plate.
“I’ll post ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures.” With a grin, Becca began snapping away with the camera on her phone.
“When I was your age,” Elaine turned to Livvy, “we used a camera to take pictures, not a phone.”
The three children all gazed at her expectantly. “And we probably wouldn’t have taken pictures of the leftovers of our dinner.” She chuckled at Becca.
“Back in the day, you only got twenty-four pictures on a roll of film, so you had to ration them.
“Once the film was done, you’d take it to the chemist to get the photos printed. If you were lucky, they all turned out, but often they didn’t – quite the disappointment sometimes.”
If only she’d stopped there.
But before Elaine could check herself, the words were out.
“I remember when your daddy shot a whole roll of film, only to discover he hadn’t loaded it properly, and he hadn’t taken a single picture! D’you remember, Dan?”
“I can’t say that I do.” Dan’s expression was stony.
Oh dear! She’d done it again!
Perhaps sensing Dan’s irritation, Becca stood up and began clearing the table. Happy for the distraction, Elaine joined in to help.
“No going on your phone and chatting with your friends until all your homework is finished, Livvy!” Becca called after the children as they raced up the stairs.
“She’s too young for her own phone, but all her friends have them…” Becca explained as she loaded the dishwasher.
“Let me do that,” Elaine offered, wanting to be useful.
“No, relax. Dan’ll make coffee. Here, you can read the Sunday paper online…”
“The paper?” Puzzled, Elaine took the iPad Becca handed her.
“We’ve gone digital,” Becca explained.
“Oh, I see. Good for the environment, I suppose, but all this going digital will put a lot of paper boys out of a job,” Elaine mused, and before she knew it, the dreaded words rolled off her tongue. “I remember when you had a paper round, Dan, and…”
Dan emitted a loud sigh. “Right Mum, that’s enough of the memories. Besides there’s not enough room in the kitchen for all of us,” he said briskly, steering her towards the silence of the lounge.
In the kitchen, Becca gave Dan a reproachful look.
“Why d’you have to be so mean to your mum?” she asked once Elaine was safely out of the way.
“Mean? I’m not mean! I drove over to get her today, she’s had a lovely dinner, and now she’s relaxing with the paper. What’s mean about that?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Becca hissed.
“What’s the harm in letting her take a little stroll down Memory Lane?”
“No harm, but it’s boring. I’ve heard her stories again and again over the years, and ninety per cent of them are about me, and most of them make me look ridiculous!”
Becca had heard this complaint before.
“You’re an only child! Of course her memories are about you!” Becca couldn’t help but think her husband sounded like Livvy. As an almost-teenager, Livvy had an excuse for a fragile ego, but Dan was almost forty for goodness’ sake! He needed to cut his mother some slack.
But Dan was on a roll. “Your mum isn’t always banging on about things that happened decades ago!”
“I’m one of five! My mum probably can’t remember which one of us did what!” Becca countered with a snort of derisive laughter. “It’s different for your mum, especially since your dad died. She doesn’t have anyone else to talk about the past with.”
“You’re right…” Although a little less belligerent and self-righteous, Dan wasn’t quite ready to concede. “If only she didn’t have so many stories!” he moaned.
“Precious memories,” Becca insisted quietly.
“When she was telling the kids about getting a roll of film developed, it made me realise.”
Dan frowned. “Realise what?”
“Think about it. These days we take endless photos. So many moments of our lives are stored on our phones. When we get old, we’ll be able to look back on them all. Your mum doesn’t have that.
“And her stories are harmless, just funny, happy moments that all parents cherish of their kids growing up.”
“When you put it like that…” Dan looked a touch shamefaced.
“It’s your mum’s birthday soon. Maybe we could get her a subscription to a course about writing her memoirs?” Becca suggested.
In the dining room, Elaine hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Dan and Becca.
When the murmur of their voices ceased, Elaine pretended to be engrossed in the iPad. She feigned surprise as Dan came in with a steaming mug of coffee.
But she must have looked guilty.
Dan said, “I guess you heard Becca giving me a hard time in the kitchen.”
Elaine considered claiming that she’d been busy reading, but the iPad’s screen was dark. Best to come clean.
“I don’t mean to get on your nerves with all my memories, Dan, but Becca’s right – I do miss having your dad to remember old times with, and yes, my memories are often funny things that you did.” She attempted a wry smile. “I’d never intentionally make you feel silly though.”
“I know. I’m sorry I’ve been a grump.”
“Not really, but d’you think we might extend the one-story-rule to maybe two?” She couldn’t resist seizing the moment. “The children love my stories.”
Dan nodded. “They do, and Becca had an idea for your birthday…”
Before Dan could suggest the memoir writing course, Livvy came thundering down the stairs and burst into the room.
“Daddy! Why did you post this?”
She thrust her phone in front of his face, making him cross-eyed as he struggled to focus on the small screen.
“Livvy, what on earth…” Becca rushed into the living room and took the phone from her.
“Look!” Distress was clear in Livvy’s voice, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“It came up as a memory on Facebook today,” Dan shrugged, confused by the sudden drama.
“And what were you doing on Facebook?” Becca asked Livvy.
“I wasn’t! Mia saw the photo on her mum’s Facebook and sent it to me!” Livvy wailed.
Mia, Elaine knew, was Livvy’s best friend and her parents were good friends of Dan and Becca.
Becca passed the phone to Elaine. At the top of the screen were the words: Dan Crowley shared a memory from 10 years ago, and underneath was a picture of two-year-old Livvy wearing a grubby pink T-shirt as she studied a large picture book… seated on a purple potty.
“Oh dear.” Elaine hadn’t been on Facebook ten years ago and had no idea that there were potentially embarrassing pictures of Livvy stored in cyberspace.
“What’s the problem?” Dan said.
“I’m sitting on a potty!” Livvy protested indignantly.
“Are you?” Dan took the phone and looked more closely. “Oh Livvy, I didn’t notice the potty. I’m sorry. I’ll delete it!”
He began scrabbling for his own phone. “It came up as a memory, and I shared it without thinking. You looked so cute reading your book. You’re so grown-up now, and it was nice to remembe…”
Dan spoke to Livvy, but his eyes met Elaine’s.
With an understanding smile, she held Dan’s gaze.
“At least you’ve never embarrassed me with any potty-training stories, Mum.”
“No, I haven’t.” Elaine was rather proud of that. Then with a playful wink and a grin, she teased, “But I do remember when…”
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