Jul 24, 1977 Sun, Home — Reading, PA

Dave Scheirer
Jul 24, 2017 · 5 min read
This is not my picture but it shows 15 ft Amos the Amishman in front of Zinn’s Diner. The diner was sold in 2003 and a refurbished Amos was moved to Hershey Farm Restaurant.

“Got up at 5:00 am after sleeping on the bus all night. I slept on the seat, fell off, stayed on the floor, then got back on the seat, and ended the night under the seats on the floor. Had scrambled eggs, home fries, toast, and milk for breakfast at Zinn’s Diner.”

I bought this and the next slide in 1977 for the slide show I presented a few times to friends and family that summer.

2017 Commentary

My Mom tells the following story of when my parents picked me up on this morning 40 years ago after three weeks on the road. Mom, “How was your trip?” My reply, “You sent me away from the home I loved.” Even though I don’t remember that interchange, I was a melancholy teenager who hadn’t slept much the night before while on the bus. I’m not surprised that I said something ungrateful after the grand adventure.

Fortunately my parents knew me well enough to ignore my comment; Mom gave me a hug and Dad shook my hand and told me he was proud. Mom and Dad would joke about my comment for years, “I guess he liked that trip, he hasn’t been home since.” I graduated from High School the next June and haven’t lived in Pennsylvania since.

Epilogue

I discovered the notebook and slides earlier in 2017 when I was cleaning out a closet. I thought it would be fun to post my notes day-by-day 40 years later. Transcribing the notes and tieing them together in a story arc with commentary caused me to reflect on a number of things, both big and small.

My hero at the time was Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye. Like the sixteen-year-old Holden, I was naive and resentful of the hypocrisy I saw in the adult world. I appreciated that Holden didn’t sell out and that he called a spade a spade. Twelve years later in 1989 Billy Joel released the song “We Didn’t Start the Fire” with a mention of Catcher in the Rye. The song motivated me to buy J. D. Salinger’s book and reread it since it was my favorite book as a teenager. I couldn’t finish The Catcher in the Rye in 1989 and was happy to dump it in a trash can since I saw the point of view was whiny and immature. My trip in July of 1977 chipped away at that naivete and resentfulness. I noticed a slight attitude improvement in my notes from the beginning of the trip through the end of the trek at Philmont. Unfortunately, I gave my parents a typical Holden Caulfield remark when they picked me up.

The first time I read the notes this year, parts of it were like reading fiction written by someone else and other parts rekindled memories that made me laugh out loud. I had no memory of someone nicknaming another kid Howdy Doody and couldn’t identify him on the group shot. It wasn’t until I digitized the slides that I found Howdy. In contrast, other memories that were set in stone over the past 40 years got blown away by the notes and slides. For example, I was certain that I discovered “My Happy Place” in that high altitude meadow on Day 2 of the trek. The notes and slides made it clear that happened on Day 6. The difference between Day 2 and Day 6 is irrelevant to anyone else. Yet, it clearly demonstrates the fungibility of memory. Even now, I’m more comfortable thinking that I discovered “My Happy Place” on Day 2. The bottom line is that there are things that are a big deal to me and I’m 99% certain of; but in fact I’m 100% wrong.

I was struck by my teenage need to document where we went, what we did, and what we ate. Most people agree it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. But the important part of the journey isn’t what we do or where we visit. It’s what we learn about ourselves and the rest of humanity. Those lessons are learned during the trials, challenges, and conflicts— not when things are “going perfectly”. I didn’t notice much of that aspect of a journey as a teenager.

Regardless of all the great planned activities we did from black powder shooting and rock climbing to branding and watching the sunrise from the Tooth of Time, my most memorable events happened between those planned activities. That contrast is a metaphor for the magical moments of life which are rarely planned.

Certainly there are major milestones like a first car, graduation, getting married, job beginnings and ends, births and deaths that often are recorded on photos. These form a framework or lattice for our memories and are the events we share most often with friends and acquaintances. But many of the best things in life happen in between those major milestones and often aren’t accompanied by a photograph. These are magical memories that stick. Since you’ve read this far, I’ll end by sharing just a few of my magical memories in life outside of my trip to Philmont:

  • Hearing and feeling my Mom’s heartbeat during a nap with her when I was four.
  • Learning about nature by watching a guppy aquarium that my Dad kept on an outdoor patio for a few months that same summer. (These are two of my earliest memories.)
  • Teaching the girl next door how to ride a bicycle when I was nine and she was six.
  • Visiting Hershey’s Chocolate World in a snow shower.
  • Wolfing down a reindeer dog in Sitka with Sue before an Ocean Raft Adventure.
  • Taking a purple Frisbee to a picnic. (That’s a long story.)
  • Sue’s actions during an unplanned chorale performance at the bottom of a salt mine in Salzburg.
  • Crying with my sister in the bathroom of my Dad’s hospital room about a week before he passed.
Dave Scheirer

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Complexity Wrangler & Financial Analyst. Christian. Past: Marketing & Rocket Science. Calmer than you are, Dude.

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