I witnessed two elderly ladies at a restaurant yesterday, talking about their memories. “I’m getting so bad, yesterday I was at the top of the stairs and couldn’t remember if I had gone up or was about to go down.” The other lady said, “Well, luckily my memory is perfect, knock on wood.” She knocked on the table, then looked startled and said, “Who is it?”
Like it or not, our memories begin to fade over time. With some, it seems to be a natural progression while others lose their memories due to illness. Those are the sad cases, so I won’t dwell on those. After all, this is supposed to be a fun blog, right?
So right in the middle of the movie, my brother yells, “Thanks, Delco!” Hilarious! Wait, did I forget to set up the joke? See what I mean? Yesterday, I was talking to my wife about a person who constantly lies. I was trying to think of the word perpetual, but it just wouldn’t come to me. This morning, I thought about it and it instantly came to me.
It’s maddening, isn’t it? All day yesterday I thought it was September 17th, which is my granddaughter Abby’s birthday. I had already sent her gifts, but I wanted to be sure I called her, too. It wasn’t long before my daughter-in-law told me that her birthday was actually on Wednesday.
I felt like a dope, but she was really helping me out because I kept asking Abby what she did for her birthday. I was probably confusing the poor thing. So, I’ll call this morning.
I can’t begin to tell you the number of times I have watched a movie trailer and told my wife that we should go see it, only to have her say, “Honey, we’ve already seen that movie.” “We have? Huh!” Well at least the next time I see it, it will still be fresh for me.
The memory will play tricks on us, too. Have you ever heard a sibling or a friend recount a story from something that happened decades ago, only it was completely inaccurate? Example: Many years ago, my oldest brother took his best friend, another friend and my brother and me to a Los Angeles Dodger game.
The game went extra innings and my brother and his best friend had to be up by 3:30 AM to go to work. My brother told us all that as soon as the game was over, we needed to stick together and run to the car so we could get out of there fast.
I bought some sunglasses there and had them in my shirt pocket. As the game ended and we were running, my glasses fell out of my pocket, so I stopped to pick them up. When I looked back up, the other guys were long gone. So, I made my way to the exit, where everyone was waiting for me. The plan was blown. It would take the better part of an hour to get out.
My brother and his friend locked themselves in the car and told us sarcastically to wake them up when we were the last ones in the parking lot. We decided to do just that. When we were, in fact, the last car, we woke them up and now they were really mad.
Everyone survived and my point is that when my sister tells the story, she tells it as if she was there. She wasn’t, but thinks she was. I’m sure she would pass a polygraph test on the matter because she has somehow inserted herself into a funny situation in which she didn’t participate.
I’ll bet I have done the same thing. So, how can you discern reality from embellished memories? What do you do when the person recounts a story and it’s wrong? I just let it go, because after all, spaghetti sauce.
See you tomorrow.
Connect with me on:
Facebook: Jerry Mabbott