The Curse of a Good Memory

I have a good memory. My mother just called me to ask me what year our family drove to Washington D.C. for an educational vacation. She called me because she was sure I’d know; and I did know. It was 1993. I recall the year because I can recall telling fellow 3rd grade students about the trip the following autumn.

I can still hear my mother imploring me to “go slow” the first time I sat behind our car’s steering wheel as I was learning to drive.

I enjoy having a good memory. It has made me a sentimental person. I can recall my father steadying my bike for me when I was learning how to ride without training wheels. I can remember my mother rubbing my back when I was sick and had to stay home from school. I still recall how good the backrub felt as I laid there with a fever. I was 10 years-old.

I clearly recollect telling a kid that a fossil was a “picture in a rock”. I don’t remember the year for certain but I was about 5 years-old.

But having a good memory isn’t 100% wonderful. I still hear my screechy, adolescent voice yelling at Shawna Caine that she was “dumb with an ugly hand”. Shawna’s crime was cutting across our front yard after I told her she couldn’t. Shawna had a severely burned hand that was heavily scarred. I think I was 9 years-old when I let go of that piece of savagery. 

When I was in the 8^th grade I was invited to a birthday party. One of the activities at the party was a dance in the host’s basement. I was asked by Randy Gibson if I would like to step out upon the dance floor with him. Randy was not the most popular boy in the 8^th grade and I was with a couple of girlfriends, consequently I was momentarily traumatized by his overture. I remember exactly what came out of my mouth, “Get away! Oh yuk!” It’s like those cruel words are engraved onto my mind. It was not my proudest moment. In my defense, I approached Randy when we were both high school seniors, recalled for him the occasion, and then humbly apologized for it. He said he did not remember the episode. Maybe he didn’t, but that’s okay, I was apologizing for my sake more than his. I needed to relieve myself of the burden.

I give myself a bit of a pass on most of those indelicacies, simply because I was a kid. I do believe that remembering these fax pas in such detail has probably made me a kinder person. No one wants to carry around the weight of cruel and heartless actions, even if they occurred at the age of 8 or 10 years-old. I should know. 

Now if I could only find Shawna Caine.