Remember when?

I love listening to my children “remember”.

“Remember that three story tree house we built?”

“Remember when we ran over Price with the Go Cart and we begged him not to tell on us?”

“Remember when we ran into the tree with the lawn mower?”

Some of the events my children remembered I knew about and others I didn’t- like running over their cousin Price.  My brother and I didn’t tell our parents everything either.  I don’t know that cousin Martha and I ever told my parents about the day we borrowed dad’s dune buggy, hit a pot hole, ran off the road and ended up in a field.

 

Memory is a funny thing. I can remember the words to all the songs that were popular during my high school years but ask me to name the President’s of the United States (something I should know because I was a high school history teacher) I would struggle. Names are not my strong point. I recognize faces, but names?

When I run into former students the conversation often goes like this….

“Hi, Mrs. Kindred. Remember me?”

“Sure,” I say, and I do remember them. I can tell you where they sat in my classroom. Who they sat next to and if they talked too much, were prone to passing notes (or gas) or throwing spit balls. But their name????

I had hundreds of students over the years and honestly, I just can’t remember names very well.

Bill and I have five children and I call them the wrong names half the time.

So ask me to sing “The Way We Were” or “Life In The Fast Lane” and I will give it a shot.

Just don’t ask me to remember your name.