NdukuOutLoud

A reflection on memory, parenting, and the moments that linger-whether we want them to or not.

Have you ever sat with your mother, talking-not as child and parent, but as two adults? You’re finally able to speak without worrying that you’ve said too much, without bracing for a fight or a lecture. Hopefully.

And then, in the middle of that talk, you bring up the time she beat you so badly you couldn’t sit for days. You still don’t know why. You don’t even know why you remember it so vividly, when so many other moments have faded. But that one stuck.

If you grew up in a strict Kenyan, religious household, there were plenty of those moments. Yet somehow, one rises above the rest. You remember. She doesn’t. Or at least she says she doesn’t. Maybe she’s playing it down, realizing now that it was unnecessary, preferring forgetfulness over apology. And you don’t even want the apology. What would you do with it now? The pain healed long ago. But acknowledgment-that would have been nice.

Memory Is a Strange Thing

Psychologists remind us that memory is slippery. Sometimes what we recall didn’t happen the way we think-or didn’t happen at all. The brain can stitch together fragments, invent details, even create entire events that feel real enough to trigger emotion.

I’m not saying you imagined it. It probably did happen. Maybe you deserved it, maybe you didn’t. Maybe two memories fused together. But let’s say it was you, and you didn’t deserve it. Why do you remember that one? Why do some childhood moments stay sharp while others blur? Why do we forget things we’re reminded of again and again?

I don’t know the answers. And maybe I shouldn’t ask. Because sometimes the digging uncovers things we’ve buried for a reason.

What Will My Child Remember?

That’s what I wonder now. What will my child carry with them? What will yours?

We move through life-sometimes present, sometimes just going through the motions. We work hard to give them the best: education, toys, opportunities. We come home late, tired, and snap at them. Or we rush bedtime because we need sleep too. And then there are the gentler nights: we come home early, bring the toy they’ve been asking for, play, laugh, eat, and tuck them in peacefully.

We assume they forget the bad days. But do they? Or is it the rough night that sticks?

Can We Ever Get It Right?

I don’t think all days can be perfect. They can’t. And not every moment with our kids will be happy. That’s impossible.

But if memory is unpredictable, maybe the only thing we can do is tip the balance. More happy moments than harsh ones. More presence than absence. More listening than lecturing. Not just one big vacation to make up for a year of neglect, but small, everyday gestures: a bedtime story, a kiss on the forehead before leaving, putting the phone down to hear about their day.

Maybe that’s the only way. If there are enough good memories, the bad ones lose their weight. And even if one painful moment sticks, it will sit alongside countless others filled with love.

A Mom Can Hope

I don’t know what my child will remember. None of us do. But I hope the scales tip toward joy. I hope the everyday gestures matter. And I hope that when memory does its strange, selective work, love is what lingers.