What was a ba?
Friday April 13th 2018, 9:59 pm
Filed under: Boozy,HelLA,himself Tags:

Three weeks into the move. Much progress – a mirror on a wall, a picture hung, dozens of boxes unpacked into built bookcases. Much to do. Bedtime, always a hoot, as I restrain him to pull on pajamas, ask him if he’s a tiny baby who misses his pacifier. Yes. Do you miss your dummy, I ask? Yes. Your ba? What was a ba, he replied, betraying the total ignorance of his life from, what, a year ago? I don’t recall, frankly.

Apparently there’s a thing that happens at 6/7, where you forget what you knew of your early years. “childhood amnesia,” it’s called, where you forget most of what happened before 3 and a half. To quote (from an iffy source, possibly), “In a 2005 experiment by Bauer and her colleagues, five-and-a-half-year-olds remembered more than 80 percent of experiences they had at age 3, whereas seven-and-a-half-year-olds remembered less than 40 percent.” And though we’re not there yet, we’re there.

“All babies are born singing God’s name.” Thus saith Sinead. Not exactly my point.

What was a ba? What was African-American literature? The pastness of the verb is devastating.

It definitely feels different. The streets are wrong, the blocks too big, the cars too many, the people mostly too plastic. But the boxes will be unpacked. And the hours, hours, hours of more hours, are hours, hours, and hours.


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