Random Access

Memories, they can't be boughten.
They can't be won at carnivals for free. 
- Steve Goodman "Souvenirs"
It was trash day, and my son ran to the window at the front of our house. He had heard the rumble of the trash truck, and he wanted to see it in action. He stood there, peeking over the ledge that was just below his chin in those days, fascinated. The excitement and unbridled joy he felt at that moment was incalculable. He vibrated. When the dumping was over, and that great big truck rolled down the street, he ran to his room to get his own trash truck. He proceeded, over the next few hours, to toss the trash from our trash cans on the floor and pick it up more times than I can count. It was also more times than he could count, since at that point in his life, he counting was very low on his priorities. Not every time, but quite often when I see or hear a trash truck in the distance, I remember that time. It's a snapshot. It's stuck in a great big box of other pictures and movies from my son's past. They are moments that I remember because of where I was: on the outside, looking in. 
I wonder, sometimes, how much my son's memory of mild events such as this are affected by the stories my wife and I tell. In front of him. In front of others. On weblogs for the whole world to peruse. Would this moment be special to him like it is for me if I hadn't told the story over and over? Would he remember it differently? What did he think the trash truck was really doing out there in front of his house each week? 
I know that he is currently building his own vast warehouse of reminiscence. Some of the things I choose to recall won't fit in the crates and boxes. He will be making room for thoughts of his first girlfriend. He will want to have a spot for that night when he first realized what he wanted to be when he grew up. And there will be secrets, too. His vast storage facility will be different from mine. There will be some overlap, as it should be. I wonder if the trash truck will make that cut. 
I hope so.