Mystery+of+the+Messy+Hands

**What Actually Happened...**
“He did it!” “No, HE did it!” “No, no, HE did it, mommy! Me didn’t do it!” And so begins a common conversation held in our house, particularly when one (or both) of my two toddler sons has committed some mischievous act. In a recent case, someone mysteriously unwrapped a chocolate Santa, devoured it completely, and spilled milk and Hershey’s syrup all over the kitchen table. I discovered both boys covered in chocolate in varying stages of the melting process. When asked who initiated this act, neither confessed. Each boy blamed his brother. Considering the said culprits are ages 2 ½ and 4 years, it is not surprising that discovering the “truth” is a difficult, if not impossible task. Both boys have learned from past experience that the one deemed guilty for masterminding such a plot is punished by mommy.

Noah, the older son, offers this story in his defense: “I didn’t get the chocolate, mommy. I just eat it. Drew climbed up in the cupboard and got out the chocolate. It was a chocolate Santa and Daddy said it’s okay that we can eat it.” Noah’s story seems truthful – at first. He confesses to eating the chocolate (although it would be hard for him to deny this considering the amount of melted Santa spread across his lips and the film of syrup coating his palms). He even offers a fairly detailed account of how his brother procured said chocolate – by climbing up into the cupboard. I have personally witnessed Brother Drew doing this very act, so I believe Noah may be truthfully relaying how the chocolate was seized. But, Noah’s story takes a fanciful turn with his last remark. He claims that Daddy gave the boys permission to eat the chocolate; however, this incident occurred at 11 o’clock on a Friday morning, a time when Daddy is at work. If Noah is creating his own “truth” with that last detail, is he telling the “real truth” about Drew climbing in the cupboard, or is the whole story fictitious?

Drew, of course, has his own version of these events. Drew insists, “Me didn’t do it. Me didn’t do everything.” He, too, is wearing physical evidence which links him to the crime – chocolate is smeared on his right cheek and syrup drips from his fingers. No matter how many times I ask him, though, he does not admit to taking part in the event. He does not corroborate Noah’s version of the “truth” in saying he climbed in the cupboard. He does not claim to have unwrapped the candy, eaten the candy, or taken the milk and syrup from the fridge. According to Drew, all of these events simply happened to him; he did not initiate or participate in them willingly.

** Creating My Own Truth... **
Unable to determine what truly happened here, I do what comes naturally – I snap some photos before washing up the boys. Only after I have printed out these photos, picked out coordinating scrapbook paper, and started imagining possible page designs do I realize I, too, am creating my own “truth” for this story. Whenever my sons do something extraordinary, comical, monumental, or adorable, I enjoy preserving that memory by making a scrapbook. For this layout, I have photos of the boys’ messy faces and the crumpled Santa candy wrapper. As I place these photos on pages, I use contrasting colors, textured scissors, and snazzy captions to tell a story. This no longer is a story about “who is the naughty boy” or “who is going to be punished,” points of view my sons might share. Instead, my scrapbook version tells “the mystery of the messy hands,” identifying my sons as suspects and the discarded chocolate as evidence. So, who is telling “the truth” here? Are my sons guilty of fabricating lies? Are they capable of understanding that such behavior is “wrong,” or do they make up their own version of the truth simply to escape punishment? Most behavioral psychologists would argue that my sons are too young to understand concepts of truth. For children, memory is a series of repeated events, and in this case, eating chocolate because Daddy (at one time) granted permission fits within their framework of learned behavior. My boys do not distinguish between truth and lies; they simply choose their memories selectively. Here, they choose to remember a time when eating candy is acceptable and reenact that memory by eating chocolate once again.

I wonder not so much at my sons’ ability to shape memory for their own benefit, but at my own ability to shape memory into story. By choosing to recreate this memory of the devoured chocolate Santa in the form of a scrapbook, I am shaping how this occasion will be saved, recalled, and interpreted. My scrapbook version is cute and light and makes my boys’ naughty behavior appear endearing. However, what other way would there be to portray this memory in the scrapbook medium? Meant as a keepsake with colorful paper and stickers, the scrapbook shapes nearly every memory into a happy occasion, a celebration.

**Seeing the World through Scrapbooking Eyes...**
Not only does the scrapbook medium affect “the truth” being preserved, but my perspective as a scrapbooker also affects how memories are perceived and saved. That is, because I enjoy choosing coordinating paper and stickers for certain events, I often approach life events thinking how I might visually portray them. For example, this past September my family visited the apple orchard. Like every other parent there, I snapped pictures of my sons plucking Empires and Jonagolds off the trees; I also photographed their sticky, donut-smeared faces. Just before we were about to leave the orchard, my husband said, “Be sure to take a picture of the trees and the hay wagon. You’ll want those for your scrapbook.” I followed his advice and quickly clicked photos of the autumnal scenery. Not until later, while I was assembling the pictures and art supplies needed to complete this scrapbook page, did I consider his remark. What does it mean that I take photographs not because I am moved by the event, but because I know this will make for a good scrapbook design? By visualizing a memory, am I living in that moment’s truth or am I manipulating the moment to fit my perception of the truth?

I do not raise such questions to undermine the purpose my scrapbooks serve. As a means of preserving moments, this medium is perfectly fine. To record one’s life as a series of happy events is certainly not harmful to me or my family. I do, however, believe it is important to recognize that these memories are shaped. They do not represent “real” events as those events were actually lived. Rather, they are visual displays of my interpretation of an event. Similar to recording my experiences in poetry or prose, the scrapbook is just another interpretation. Truth, here, is not absolute; truth is selective. The memory becomes what images I choose to display, what story I decide to tell…