Where does it begin, this urge to travel, this delight in new experience, this conscious building of memories? Is it in the genes? Maybe a trace of nomad in the blood? One way or another, it`s a gift from our parents.
They were big swans, I remember, big enough to seat two. And it seemed as if there was no end to the wonders you could see, the adventures you could have, from the back of a swan.
The memory is always accompanied by a feeling of pure elation.
It involved a long drive to a special place, a vast expanse of pure magic, just outside Denver, called Elitche`s Gardens. I`d always get very tall when we got there, and that was fun, too. Little kids do that when somebody carries them. My father would carry me to the ”river,” which I recall was an incredible distance from the parking lot.
We`d wait there for a little, and the man would stop two of the big white swans, people would get out and then we`d get in. I`d say ”Go, go, go,” and bounce up and down; the man would give us a push, and the ride would begin.
Usually I`d sit with my father. It was always a grand adventure, going for what seemed like miles, under the trees and Japanese lanterns, through the gardens, past the other rides and the merry-go-round, drifting on the ”river current” in the back of that swan.
A spiritual return
I`ve heard Elitche`s still exists, but I`ve never gone back. It`s probably not the same, except to me. My father and my mother, even the man who helped us in and gave us a push-they`re all gone now. But the memories aren`t. In a way they`re still here, and they`ll always be with me because they`re part of a memory my parents built for me. They`re here to be used whenever I want them. I can replay them as a conscious act or just enjoy them when they come up as random memories.
I still can smell ever so faintly my father`s cigars and after-shave and my mother`s lilac fragrance. I can smell the hot dogs and the flowers and the popcorn. I can hear the music of the merry-go-round and the laughter of the park visitors, and the calliope, the gurgling of the water and my parents`
voices.
Those memories, made so many years ago, are a gift for life.
Swans that can take a 3- or 4-year-old over the face of the earth on a Sunday afternoon are a little harder to find now, but the rides are still around.
I saw a great one at Copenhagen`s Tivoli not long ago. They actually were miniature replicas of old cars that ran on a track trough a section of the gardens, but the principle was the same. We stood and watched, my wife and I, while little boys and girls sat behind controls that really didn`t do anything, ”steering” while their parents rode as passengers.
There we are again
A thin, balding man, smoking a cigar, was sitting next to a boy of about 3 as one of the ”flivvers” came down the ”road.” Man and boy were wearing the same expression: pure elation. It was my father and me all over again, only this boy would remember a car instead of a swan.
There are still rides around. You don`t have to go to Eliche`s or Tivoli to find them. Almost every city has a few. Maybe it`s only a train or a boat ride in the park or a merry-go-round or even a streetcar, but the rides are out there.
I think a lot of us know inherently the wisdom of building memories for our children, and including ourselves in them. Sometimes you don`t need a whole lot more immortality than that.
