Feelings Don't Fade

My editorial for the upcoming issue of The Clocktower, written at about 4 a.m.:

I like fire. No, I don’t assemble homemade explosives or flamethrowers, but I could spend hours sticking matches or flicking a lighter just to watch the flame. As I was sitting in my room playing with a lighter I considered what would happen if I flicked it inside my hoodie pocket. How long would it take for the material to begin to burn? How big of a hole would it make?

Clothes are expensive, and I’m really not a pyro so I didn’t try it. I just think hypothetically of these things. I do have brains. Suddenly I thought, Wait, don’t I already have a hoodie with a small, burn hole in the pocket? I had to think a minute, but then I remembered.

In high school, I had a grey, pullover sweatshirt that had the letters “U.C.A.” on the front (Upper Columbia Academy), and my name printed on the back in bold, capitol letters. “DR. STEINGAS.” Quite a few classmates had hoodies like this with either their last name or a nickname on the back.

At that point in time, I wanted to be a doctor. Possibly a radiologist, I didn’t exactly know. I have to admit, I really liked the titled of “Doctor.” Admittedly it was part pride, but also part ambition. To my knowledge, no one on my dad’s side has ever gotten their doctorate, and I wanted to be the first. But coming into college, I decided the long-term academic road was not for me. Doesn’t mean it still can’t happen.

During the beginning of senior year I lost that sweatshirt in Pendleton, Ore. I took it off in a barber shop before I got my hair cut and forgot to take it with me. I got a similar sweatshirt later that year, but it wasn’t the same. It fit differently. I didn’t have the faint smell of campfire from the canoe campout on at Upper Priest Lake during junior year. Or the burn hole created by a large, stray ember.

Since I don’t remember things well, I collect mementos. Banquet tickets, notes passed in class, receipts from road trips or meals with friends. And I might not always remember exactly what happened or what was said, but as Maya Angelou said, “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Once a questionnaire asked, “There is a fire, and you can only save two books. Which ones would you choose?” I tried hard to think of some book with sentimental. Although I mark up every book I read, they all can be replaced. But then it hit me. My high school yearbooks. Both my junior and senior ones are filled to the max with notes and signatures.

Interestingly, none of my college yearbooks are signed anywhere close to that. I’m starting to regret that. I have photos. I have random items of memorabilia. But no notes in my yearbooks.

Well, it’s my senior year. And I can promise you that this year’s is getting marked up.

As for the sweatshirt? As of tonight in the East Oregon Craigslist listing of “lost & found” is the title “Lost Sweatshirt.” I’m pretty sure I won’t get it back, but that’s fine. I still remember how the smoke smelled and the burn hole felt.