Paper Stays Put

The Old DiariesI recently unearthed two of my mother’s diaries, one from 1976 and one from 1981. She is gone now, and the diaries are what remain of her daily attention: who came, who left, what was said, where I was.Between them, they recorded two events that stopped me in my tracks.She was precise by nature, a detailed person who wrote things down because she meant them to stay put. I have little reason to doubt her. But I’ll note that a diary is not a camera. It is my mother’s record, shaped by what she noticed and what she chose to set down. I’m trusting it, but I’m aware that it’s a choice I am making.The Motorcycle and the ManIn the 1976 diary she mentions, twice, a motorcycle ride I took with a fellow named “Valdo.” Two things are unusual: the name and the motorcycle. You would think I’d remember a name like that, and if not the name, then the ride. Unless memory fails me (and it very well could; more on that later), I had ridden on the back of a motorcycle perhaps once or…