Maybe Let's Cool It With Our "Core Memory" Ambitions

I’ve been a parent for 13 years and in that time I’ve seen a number of new terms coined or popularized. “Gentle parenting.” “Spirited child.” “Crunchy Mom”( and her counterpart, “Silky Mom”). And then there’s “Core Memory,” which debuted in Pixar’s Inside Out. Far be it from me to even give the appearance of besmirching this basically perfect movie, but I have mixed feelings about how we’ve made “core memory” a thing. So much so that I wonder if it might be better if we let this term go the way of Bing Bong.

For those of you who have not watched and/or cried through Inside Out a hundred times, the basic premise of “core memories” is that everyone has certain events that shape us as people. These moments stay with us as important touchstones that support us through the rest of our lives. For Riley, the film’s main character, the memory of ice skating with her family is a kind of mental happy place. A moment that grounds her in hard times and allows her to reclaim a sense of joy and contentment. The personified emotions in her head can play these memories like movies. They are bathed in a soft, hazy light, accompanied by a simple but evocative piano melody.

As with just about anything Pixar, children find this entertaining and adults get it. We’re keenly aware of our core memories. And so it’s not surprising that parents – watching this beautiful scene and knowing how our own core memories have affected us through our lives– began to think about their childrens’ own lives in terms of “core memories.”

And I’m conflicted.

Because on the one hand, what can be more beautiful than thinking about your child’s long-term happiness? To move through their youth so thoughtfully, seeking to nurture moments of joy and beauty that will stay with them for the rest of their lives.

On the other hand: Who are we to think that we get to engineer what they take from their own childhoods? Have you ever talked to a kid after a vacation?

“Did you have fun on our two-week trip sweetie? With all the roller coasters and beach trips and sweet treats and swimming with dolphins? What was your favorite part?”

The inevitable response: “The escalator in the airport!”

They are taking very different things from our shared experiences than we might imagine and there’s absolutely no amount of effort or wishful thinking you can put out there that will change that. So you might not want to invest too much mental energy in your desired outcome.

More existentially, however, I wonder how these efforts affect the experiences themselves. Because even if we can successfully pull off giving our child a “core memory,” what are the consequences of thinking of such moments as future, foundational memories rather than being fully in the moment? Isn’t that sort of defeating the purpose? Especially if we’re curating the aesthetics of that moment with a #CoreMemory in the caption on Instagram.

I feel like core memories are like cats: you’re going to have better luck attracting them to you if you play it cool. Don’t try too hard. Don’t want it too bad. Be chill and let them come to you. That’s not to say you need to give up on grand gestures, extra effort, or nice things. But do those things because you want to make a happy moment, not a happy memory.

And, honestly? Some of the greatest core memories from my own childhood came from “lazy parenting” (if parenting can ever be called “lazy”). Like “Movie Night.” Every Friday at six my mom would lay a picnic blanket in the living room, make an easy dinner for me and my three siblings and pop in a VHS. My siblings and I would happily devour our special treat-dinner (hot dogs with no vegetables in sight!) while watching Back to the Future or Indiana Jones, going to bed a little bit later than usual feeling like we got away with something. Years later, I brought it up to my mom, who laughed.

“I did that because I was tired by Friday,” she said. “I didn’t want to cook. I didn’t want to parent. I just wanted to relax for a few hours before the weekend.”

And yet her lack of effort (and, honestly, the fact that I too am tired by Friday evening) inspired me to institute Movie Nights in my own home. Every Friday since my kids were toddlers, the picnic blanket comes out and I lovingly whip up some off-brand mac and cheese from a box. They pick something to watch and, when they’re done eating, they’ll still sometimes pile onto my lap as they giggle at Bob’s Burgers or their 100th viewing of Clue.

I can’t know for sure if these evenings are going to be a core memory for them as well – maybe they’ll think back with that fuzzy nostalgic glow, maybe they won’t – but it turns out that we parents can also make new core memories for ourselves. I couldn’t have done it if I’d tried.

Jamie Kenney is a Senior Staff Writer at Scary Mommy. She lives in Connecticut with her husband and two children, who will probably not remember half of the really nice things she’s done for them, but she’s made peace with it.