Memory is a strange thing. It comes and it goes, and the older you get, the more it goes. Probably that’s reasonable, since with each passing year, there’s more to remember. Still, I’ve been watching these ads on TV for “brain fog” medication. I’m not sure that’s what I have. I generally characterize it as the fact that my brain has become something like a sieve. All of the big chunky memories either get whittled down so they can be recalled or they simply stay stuck.
My wife amazes me. We’re the same age. She remembers everything. We’ll be visiting with friends and she pulls this piece of our history out of the blue that just boggles my mind. Or maybe it’s more recent history. Maybe it happened last week and I’ve already put that occurrence in my sieve. Maybe I just don’t pay attention like she does. Maybe it is brain fog. (My granddaughter says I have a case of being “oblivious.”)
Having coffee with some friends the other day (I don’t remember how the subject came up), I mentioned to them I had won a national oratory contest my senior year of high school. They looked at each other as if I was having a serious senior moment. Then the questions started flowing. Where was it? What was the subject? How many participated? What was the prize? The questions were unending and asked so rapidly I hardly had time to respond. It was clear they believed I had lost it; a “national” contest?
We finally agreed that the next time we got together for coffee, I would bring proof of my prize. That led to a decision that each person should bring interesting pieces of our past to our next gathering. So with some trepidation, I went home wondering where in heavens name I could find proof of my winning oration.
I told my wife about our coffee conversation and my wondering where I could find my oration, or a winning certificate, or something to put their doubts to rest. I was still pondering where to look and what to do when she came into the room with an old photo album. It was one my mother put together as I was growing up. Sure enough, the pictures went from a few years of age to one where I’m obviously giving a speech. And next to the picture were two newspaper articles about my winning a national oratory contest. (My mother must have been especially proud of me as the two articles were the same, from the same source.)
I don’t remember how long I’ve been writing columns for the Register. I do remember being asked to do it by a previous editor. I was in the office to see about the publication of a letter to the editor, and likely because I wrote so many of them, he suggested writing a column. Maybe the Register knows better when I started writing, but I know I have columns in my file dating back to 2011.
Actually, I have columns dating even earlier. They were written for the SDSU student newspaper, The Collegian. I know I wrote for at least two different editors. I’m not exactly sure where my copies of those columns might be. Perhaps my wife can locate them? (The problem is “clutter.” Just like my memory, my office has too much “clutter.” I need a sieve for my office. Then I might be able to find my old Collegian columns.)
Writing a memoir for family and friends was helpful. There were so many opportunities to remember. One memory would shake loose another. It was so interesting writing it, that I decided to put together another book. This one will be a collection of columns I’ve written. Reviewing them for publication in my book, I’ve decided to put them in chapters like this: to hope, to dream, to care, to govern, to trust, to laugh; and more. It’s been an adventure to jog the memory with so many events of the past.
My conclusion is, memory is fleeting but still resurrectable. Speaking helps. Communicating with others can often be a tripwire for a memory long buried. Writing helps. One word or thought leads to another, perhaps to a memory long missing. In other words, we shouldn’t give up. What memory we’ve been looking for might just appear in mother’s old photo album.
Leave a Reply