When I was a junior in college (1996), headed toward a degree in Psychology, I looked forward to the course about the various theories of personality the history of psychology offered for study. I had for a long time loved reading some of the works of Carl Jung and I could envision this course as being where Jung would get in-depth focus. I also liked the theories of Carl Rogers, whose name always made me think of the TV show, Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, imagining he would come through a door, hang up his sweater and invite you to the warm and fuzzy place known as Humanistic Psychology. I was so ready to take that course and learn more theories.
When I got into that course, however, Jung and Rogers, along with Maslow, Freud, Erickson and Adler, et al, were found to be written of in the course’s textbook. The professor, Doctor Stabler, had other things he preferred to lecture about. He told us right up front: the exams will come straight from the text. All lectures would be merely voluntary and nothing from the lectures would be part of the coursework. In other words, it was up to us students to learn about the various theories of personality.
You see, Doctor Stabler was in the last quarter (10 week period) of a long and distinguished career. He explained to us how his primary focus had, for years, been research; and, he had held important research positions at a couple of fine universities in the South. He told us that history in the twilight of his life, on the verge of mandatory retirement. He also told us that he then understood, after years of watching lab rats, it was important for us students to learn to see beyond the black and white. Doctor Stabler told us to see the value of life, as we are living it, rather than getting to a point where looking back became a perspective of regret.
Over the weeks of that quarter, Doctor Stabler would come to class and recite some of the poetry he had written to his infant grandson. In essence, he was recording a legacy for another generation, for a later time when his grandson would grow eventually old enough to appreciate his grandfather’s love; and, he was making us students the audience to his personal thoughts and feelings. These recitals certainly were not for the benefit of the students; and, as time went on, fewer and fewer students would show up for class, especially if there was no exam to miss. I kept coming, however, even though it was at times painful to listen to his poetry. I came because I sensed there was a greater message Doctor Stabler was teaching us.
That message was the personality of old age, which young students have difficulty understanding. He was showing us what happens when running with the pack is no longer physically possible, particularly in an age when everything is merited according to one’s abilities to keep up. The message was trying to get word to those not yet trapped in adulthood, to live life.
This overall lesson seemed to be in contrast to his very first lecture, during that course. At that time Doctor Stabler told us to write down our earliest memories of snow and to draw a floor plan for the first home we remembered. When we finished this in-class assignment and turned the papers in, he told us that some people believe that our particular life personality is seen in these earliest memories. He said our feelings from those memories reflect how we later see life, because they reflect on two of the most comforting aspects of life: the purity of snow and the comforts of home. He said it was important to connect with how these memories make us feel, when we remember them.
My earliest memories come from when I was just over two years old; and, my first memory of snow occurred in my first home. I recall several episodes of my early life, when my mother and I shared a two-bedroom apartment, near midtown Atlanta. I have always had warm feelings about those memories, event though almost all of those memories had a “shock value” as part of them. I see how the shock made the memory easier for me to recall years later. I had never taken the time to consider how those earliest memories could have been a reflection of what has become since.
For instance, my earliest memory of snow was actually of two separate events. Up until Doctor Stabler asked us to recall such memories, I had always seen those events as totally separate times of my life. In hindsight, I see the high probability that, given the rarity of snow in Atlanta, Georgia and the fact that I only lived in that apartment with my mother two winters, both memories happened on the same day. Realizing that, it makes it easier to see how myself, as a small child experiencing snow for the first time, would store two memories as equally important.
Still, both of my memories of my first experience of snow ran through the gamut of human sensations. There was the thrill of knowing it had snowed and the amazement of seeing an untouched blanket of snow on everything outside. There was the feel of cold on tiny bare feet, as well as the restriction of being snugly bundled up to keep the cold away from my flesh. There was the joy of making snowballs and snowmen, both with my mother and other kids; but, there was also some pain and fear in those memories. Those sensations were both erased, keeping them from having a profound lifetime effect on me, due to the love of a mother for her son.
The pain came from someone having played a prank before it snowed, setting tacks on the concrete at the bottom of our stairwell, which led from our back door to the back parking lot. I had gleefully run outside barefooted, in my pajamas, immediately upon being told about snow being on the ground. After bouncing down the stairs I make one last leap from the bottom stair, right into that bed of tacks. I screamed and cried mightily in pain; but, my mother soothed away those tears.
The fear came from finding out hills could no longer be negotiated by tiny legs and feet in galoshes, like they could when the hill covered only with grass. I tried to reach my mother on the sidewalk above by walking normally uphill, only to keep falling on my stomach and face and sliding back to the bottom of the hill. Clawing with my mitten-clad hands had no impact on climbing that hill. I was afraid I would never reach my mother again. That was until my mother imparted her wisdom on me, telling me to go another way. I did; and, all my fears were gone after that.
Remembering my first experiences with snow does seem to reflect my life and how I see life in general. I see there are ideals that are as pure to me as the white untouched snow. These are exciting and motivate me to act, without any thought of what can lie hidden below the surface. It is fun to make one of life’s leaps when someone is along side, enjoying the company. Sometimes I reach barriers that were unexpected and often beyond my abilities to overcome, without some outside assistance. Love is the medicine that heals all my wounds; and, it is love that tells me when I am going the wrong way, after I have beat my head against the wall one too many times. I forget the pains and fears, as long as I have love in my life.
Perhaps you can try this yourself and see if it matches your views on life. Doctor Stabler said it was important to remember where you were, who you were with and how did the experience of snow affect you. Remember it is only a theory and theories are only guesses, as abstracts of those elements that can’t fully be explained. Hopefully, your memories of snow were happy ones too.
