Like I was keenly sure that I had watched Evel Knievel jump those buses at King's Island in the 70's. It was some sort of Piaget invented memory from seeing photographs of my dad in his tight camel colored leather jacket and thick black hair and chops. It was inside of one those old photo books under the coffee table where I had created a memory. I had crawled inside of history and nestled there for years. I was with him with silken pigtails and a nylon windbreaker that was red. But, I would have been younger than Blaise is now and I wasn't there. I asked my mom. I wasn't there.
So how crazy is it for me to remember it?
I may have a story inside of me about Evel Knievel.