memoir a la Brainard*

collage by a. girling

*Joe Brainard (1942 - 1994) was an American artist and writer known particularly for his experimental memoir, I Remember (1970), which consists of a stream of consciousness list of moments and memories from his childhood, each item in the list beginning with ‘I remember’.

I remember 
after Joe Brainard

I remember my mother and father telling me that one day when I was four years old, I was in the living room with the TV on and I saw Jack Ruby muscle his way through the crowd and shoot Lee Harvey Oswald dead. 

I remember making my brother cry by telling him that Santa Claus didn't exist. 

I remember a day of heavy rain, going home from school through the woods, crossing a raging creek by straddling a fallen log, then getting a spanking with a wooden spoon from my mother who’d been waiting at the school the whole time to give me a ride home. 

I remember getting a Johnny Seven One Man Army for Christmas.  

I remember playing a game at recess in which boys tried to capture girls and put them in the jail cell we’d made beneath a cement staircase.  

I remember going to Derek Lee’s tenth birthday party, his mother taking us all downtown to see Bonnie and Clyde, and the looks on Bonnie and Clyde's faces just before their bodies got riddled with bullets. 

I remember Miss Knight, my teacher in Grade 5, kicking my friend, Jimmy, in the teeth, then another day doing the same to Tom Bell, both times drawing blood, both times seeing her face turn white afterwards and both times no one saying anything about it to anyone. 

I remember in Grade 6 challenging John Tennant to a rumble after school (and losing) because he grabbed and tore my autographed photo of Gordie Howe. 

I remember in Grade 7 boys and girls being separated in order to watch a movie about human reproduction, then not believing John Tennant who told us at lunch exactly what boys were able to do with their penises.  

I remember Mr. Bromley, my Grade 8 Social Studies teacher, teaching us about feudalism in Europe for two weeks, the Vietnam War for the rest of the year, then giving everyone an automatic B+ because he didn’t believe in grades.

I remember our band teacher, Mr. Dodsworth, throwing his baton at Alan Meek, the baton ricocheting off Alan Meek's music stand, straight up to the ceiling and staying there. 

I remember staring too long at Jamie Campbell as she walked toward me down the aisle in Mr. Bromley’s class, and her reaching out to cover my eyes with the palm of her hand, laughing as she passed. 

I remember a boy, Pierre, who every day randomly chose kids to punch or hit on the head with something, me being one of those kids. 

I remember reading The Godfather, a book I'd picked out of my father’s paperbacks to do a book report on, and Mr. Reid, my Grade 8 English teacher, accusing me of never having read it because my book report was so badly written.

I remember skipping out of school with Jimmy to go downtown and try to get into the Vogue to see The Exorcist, being excited when we got in and grossed out by the scene with pea soup and the one with the crucifix.  

I remember going with my mother and father to their friend’s cabin at Whistler Mountain ski resort and finding a stack of Playboys on the floor of their bathroom.

I remember going to see David Bowie at the Pacific Coliseum and being shown a silent movie that had close-ups of a razor blade slicing an eyeball and ants crawling from an open wound on the palm of someone’s hand.   

I remember staying up late to watch George Carlin on Saturday Night Live and hearing my mother and father having sex in the next room.   

I remember my Grade 11 English teacher, Ms. Leslie Seabourne, she who was known for teaching 'media literacy' and sex education instead of English, spurring me to ask questions, speak up and to take writing seriously. 

I remember hanging out and playing records by Roxy Music, Yes, Genesis, Jeff Beck and David Bowie with my friend, Karim, and talking about girls we liked but could never in a million years approach. 

I remember my mother and father going to the parent-teacher night just to meet Ms. Seabourne and find out how I was doing, what exactly I was learning and how much progress I’d made.