The funny thing about memories is they get mixed with the mud over time. The memories lose their sparkly shininess they once had. As time passes it becomes harder and harder to differentiate what was real in that frozen moment and what latched on to that memory like a blood sucking leach. Sometimes having the luxury of distance can make watershed moments more crystal clear. More black and white. Other times the distance just muddles up the hue. Secondary events, secondary memories, our own moral beliefs, our own political beliefs, our own prejudices, our own desire to frame ourselves to fare better in that memory will change how we view said memory. And then where are we? What is real? Was I really part of this? If the answer is yes, then how much? Maybe it doesn't matter. So many memories. A perfect unblemished blue sky.