time travel

It's been the theme of my life this past week. No, I haven't gone crazy, and no, I'm not building a time machine in our back bedroom. We do have a digital robotic vacuum cleaner though.

My dad called me a few days ago and asked me if I'd seen the "time traveller" video on youtube. Okay. My father doesn't introduce stories gracefully or...sufficiently. What he was attempting to tell me about was the video that went viral recently involving the 1928 Charlie Chaplin film The Circus. Some filmmaker in Ireland freeze-framed a shot of an old woman walking past Grauman's Chinese in the movie's premiere footage. He claims she's holding and talking on a modern cell phone, and that must mean she's a time traveller (I mean, duh). Well. I watched it. Admittedly, it's freakish looking--one of those black and white images that ends up looking creepy because someone told you it's supposed to be creepy. But if you have a right mind (which I pride myself in often, given my troubling genetic pool), then it's easy to rationalize. Old-fashioned hearing aid, crazy lady talking into some random object...anything. Got it, check. None of this is the point. That day, I went to lunch with my dad and humored him for a bit about the topic. Then I saw and seized a perfect opportunity to try and learn something new about the man that raised me. I asked him where he'd go, if he could go anywhere back in time. Here's what he said, almost verbatim:

"Well...I guess the real answer is that I'd go back to Boston at the time of the American Revolution. You know, see how the people actually wore, what they seemed like. Understand what this country actually looked like back them. I'd just walk the streets."

I didn't expect that one. Not from him. Maybe from me, self-professed history dork for life. But what I realized deep in my gut, listening to him say that, is that he and I have more of a common thread than I had ever believed...and we share it with most Americans. It's an innate sense, a pulling force, a need, to mine the past for the answers to who we are. What else made me think about this? Halloween of all holidays. Kids love it, for sure, but most adults who celebrate Halloween use it a a chance to dress up as a character that they feel projects some part of their own internal monologue. That's why so many people dress up as historical figures, I think. Three of my friends were Frida Kahlo this year. Where did that come from? But they're all artistic, smart woman who, I'd imagine, admire the artist's individuality, spunk, and tragic narrative. Call me cynical, but I do think we all secretly hope to be part of some epic, haunting narrative. It's like the Irish guy trying to scare us with 80-year-old movie clips. The historic is often the haunted.

One more thing. My dad just revealed to me on the phone a few hours ago that he knows the location of several VHS tapes of my childhood. My sister's fifth grade graduation. A trip we took to Colorado when I was ten. I told him I wanted to watch them immediately. Will it be a little strange to see myself so long ago? Yes. The past scares us because it's a truth (often quite beautiful) that can no longer be argued with.