My parents have a photo of me, when I was about 6, in a small backyard pool with two Indian boys. They lived next door to us and if that photo did not exist I would have no memory of them at all. Actually I don’t have any memory of them, just the photo and the stories my Mom told me. Sometimes I wonder if that’s true of most things. Do we really have those memories or just photos and stories that have been repeated to us?