Michael D. Davis.

I believe memory is sometimes a collective thing. Occasionally, a person will have a memory which will cause another to remember something else which will then in turn cause another to remember something entirely different. However, if all this sparks from your Ma remembering something from your childhood, then you’re already off the rails.

So, yeah, my Ma remembered something last night. We were sitting there watching TV, and she turns to me and says, “Do you know what al fresco means?” I said, “Yeah, of course, eating outside.” She said that was right, and she then said that when I was little, whenever I wasn’t wearing pants, I said I was going “al fresco.” Where I got the term from is unclear. Why I constantly refused to wear pants is unknown. But apparently, when I was but a child, I would walk around with no pants, declaring that I was going “al fresco.”

My Ma also elaborated, saying that one of her coworkers at the time was worried about my “al fresco” lifestyle. The coworker was concerned that at some point someone would say to me or around me, “Let’s dine al fresco,” and I would simply drop trou. I guess I can see how that would be a concern.

This memory of my Ma’s then sparked a memory of mine. Ya see as a kid who watched “The Outsiders” at probably too young of an age and always saw Bugs Bunny with a bindle, I constantly threatened to run away. However, I am not a traveler, and thus I am not a good packer. On all these threatening occasions, I would only pack the essentials. This meant I ended up standing at the front door with a suitcase full of underwear. I believe one time I also packed a sandwich, ya gotta have provisions.

But somewhere, deep within the recesses of the house, in a Nike shoe box from the mid-80’s is a picture, I believe, of me standing at the front door threatening to leave with my bag of underwear. And yes, you guessed it, I was “al fresco.”

Memories are odd things because it’s strange what we do remember and what we don’t. It’s also curious what blows the dust off those old memories seemingly out of nowhere, bringing them all back. What I’m trying to say is I am currently going “al fresco” and I’ve written this whole column while going “al fresco.” So, picture that. And the next time ya see me in public, for the sake of me, you, my Ma, my Ma’s old coworker, and everyone in view, don’t ask me to dine “al fresco” because I just might have a pavlovian response.