In our little village of, oh I don’t know, 400 people, we had one school built in 1957. The year I was born. The old school had burned to the ground. This new school had a auditorium and everything.
In a small town, gossip is one of the most evil things that can happen. In those days there was no Internet so misinformation went from phone calls on party lines (yes six houses using the same phone line) and neighbours talking at the post office, the store, or over the back fence. (Oh now that I think of it not many houses had fences but anyway they talked.)

So one day our teacher Mrs. Downey was going to make a point of how statements can change very quickly from one person to the next. So she lined us up, grade 1 to grade 3, down a long hallway in the school. (One classroom. Don’t get excited. About 25 kids.) The first child was whispered a message by our teacher. In turn that child had to take three steps and tell the next child the message. This continued until it got to the last child. We all went back into the classroom and my teacher asked the last child that heard the message what the message was. The response was “Joey eats soup”. Our teacher wrote the original message on the chalkboard. It was “Joey went to Darlene’s house where he made chicken soup”.
The most important thing I learned that day was that we all hear, see and remember differently. What I think I heard or what I think I seen, becomes memories and if I’m asked to recall what happened I pull from those memories. I have observed in my own family and friends that we all remember things differently. We may have all been at the same place at the same time but for some reason our brains don’t want to take a perfect picture of that moment. Sometimes, especially during stressful times, I can remember trying to retell a horrible moment in my life. The telling of the story brings back the fear and distress. In the room with me are four others listening to my story. One of them was a witness to this horrific event. Suddenly he declares, “That’s not how it happened!! Are you nuts!! I was there! This is what happened!!” So over the years I have concluded that my memories are how I processed the situation. Sometimes I made ugly things beautiful. Sometimes I made beautiful things ugly. We all do that because we are individuals. We each see and remember a story differently. Especially in those days when we didn’t have instant media. We couldn’t instantly record a conversation or take a picture. If you wanted to be factual you had to start writing as soon as possible. If you wanted photographic evidence of the memory you better hope a camera was near and filled with a roll of film. Then finish the roll and get it to the store. They would send it away to be developed. A week or so and you have a picture. It might be a very blurry picture. It was a whole different world.
So during those moments where you sit there and listen to your mother tell a story, or your brother tell a story, or your best friend tell a story, and you want to scream, “No that’s not what happened!” Take a breath. Remember that we all remember in different ways. We’re not lying. We’re not exaggerating. We just see and feel and remember the moments differently. 99.9% of our memories will never be used in a court as evidence. So be kind. Be forgiving. Be tolerant. Be a nice human.