A Subtle Memory
When I was in fourth and fifth grade, we lived with my grandparents in their large house by a river on Long Island. I had many adventures there and I learned a lot, including how to spell the word, "subtle".
My grandma Lili frequently had friends over for tea. One day I came upon Lili and a friend sipping tea from one of my grandma's many lovely tea sets. The two of them sat in the alcove of the spacious dining room facing the river. When I walked up, my Lili introduced me to her friend who immediately had a twinkle in her eye upon meeting me. The first thing I remember her saying is, "Now, dear, let's see how well you can spell. How do you spell the word 'subtle'?"
Of course, as a fourth grader, I had hardly heard of the word, let alone used it or written it down. I didn't want to admit defeat or be seen as an ignorant youngster in front of this stranger, so I gave it my best shot, sure that I would be right. With as much confidence as I could muster under the circumstances, I said, "S-U-T-T-L-E?"
The friend and Lili almost giggled in glee as the friend said, "Nope! There is a silent 'B'!"
She proceeded to spell it correctly for me. Then either the friend or my grandma divulged a story from their childhood about how their father had cornered them the same awkward way, but they never forgot how to spell that word! Their story relieved some of my embarrassment from not spelling the word correctly. It was a comfort knowing they had fallen prey to the same mistake, but I was still miffed that they had used such a sneaky tactic on me!
As an adult, I understand the meaning of this word, but out of curiosity, I looked up the precise definition.
Subtle: delicate or precise as to be difficult to analyze or describe. Delicately complex and understated.
While the circumstances for learning the spelling of this word were effective, I remember feeling a subtle humiliation. I vaguely recall being offered a gift of some kind if I spelled correctly, but I don't trust my memory on that point. Either way, I clearly remember feeling a profound sense of embarrassment that I was careful to hide from my grandmother and her friend as they corrected me on the spelling.
I often wonder about memories- why some rather mundane memories stay with us while others, possibly even traumatic, are relegated to the never-never land of our minds. The memory I described, although simple in the telling, is full of a subtlety of its own. The memory could be analyzed from multiple perspectives: my grandmother's habits, a child's relationship to older adults, the legacy of memory, effective learning methods, what the story says about Lili's friend or my young pride. A dozen stories and vantage points can be extrapolated from this one memory. We each typically have a million more snippets of memory and each memory fits together to tell the story of who we are, how we relate to the world and the people in it, and describes layers upon layers of feelings, habits, choices, and patterns of behavior we've developed over the years. The implications of our memories are subtly staggering.
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