Shocked and dismayed

I often wonder whether I have false memories of my youth. There are events I remember vividly despite being assured they never happened. Some of these I know with my brain cannot be true - like being able to float across my living room from one couch to another without touching the floor... even if I had used one couch as a trampoline, I doubt it would have been possible to accomplish this feat. Yet even today, I have vivid memories of doing it. There have been other examples of this through the years. Today, I was confronted by disturbing evidence related to one such incident.

Forty years ago last June, I celebrated my Bar Mitzvah. It was a lavish affair, with a guest list that included more of my parents' friends and business associates than people I knew personally. Thankfully, my parents had hired photographers and a camera crew to take photographs and 8mm silent-movie footage of the event. Some years later, the 8mm film was transfered to VHS tape, with a dubbing of my Haftorah as background. That film contained staged sequences where I pretended to be drunk, losing the envelopes containing the monetary gifts - and then my younger sister appeared on the scene to scoop up the dropped envelopes, disappearing into the sunset as she counted her ill-gotten gains.

From that moment on, I have no recollection of ever seeing those envelopes again. I remember discussing it with my dad - and clearly remember being chastised for misplacing those envelopes. I never saw a penny of my Bar Mitzvah gelt.

Fast forward to this afternoon. My father died almost a year ago, and my mother is in the midst of preparing to move from her home. She's trying to get rid of as much stuff as she can, and today, she dropped off a box of Bar Mitzvah trinkets. Unused place cards, napkins, matchbooks, invitations, and reply cards had been lovingly preserved by my father, and were presented to me to do as I wish. And then I saw the envelopes. Those missing envelopes from forty years ago. Each one bore the name of the donor, and the amount of the enclosed gift - the notations made in my father's distinctive handwriting. There were also telegrams from those that could not attend, as well as the bills from the caterers, and the hand-written to-the-penny accounting of expenses that my father was famous for.

It is now painfully obvious to me that the envelopes were never actually lost. But I now have to wonder whether I received the money and just forgot (would you, as a thirteen year old forget receiving what amounted to 10-year's worth of allowance in a single day?) or whether my father chose to keep this money from me so that I wouldn't just fritter it away.

I guess I'll never know for sure.