I like memories. I just wish I could remember them.
The other day I lost a memory game to my four-year-old. Legitimately. It got me to thinking that maybe I don’t have a good memory.
When I think back on my life, at least the parts I can recollect, a pattern begins to emerge. All the experiences, when looked at collectively, point right to an inability to remember things.
I can’t remember much from college, but that can be attributed to beer. The Navy days are a little clearer, and one of the first things that comes to mind is engineering. I knew I would never be an engineer because they expect you to answer whatever they say, word for word.
I also remember qualification boards, which are designed to test your memory. There is nothing like sitting at a table full of everyone you work for, and showing them exactly how little you know.
It wasn’t my fault. It was my memory.
I have gone to the same church for six years now, and not only can I not name most of the people in the congregation, I could walk by most of them at the mall and swear I have never seen them before. I’m not sure what that does to my chances of getting through the pearly gates, but it can’t help.
I just hope I don’t become one of those guys who repeats himself over and over. I would hate that.
Heck, the other day I lost a memory game to my four-year-old. Legitimately. It got me to thinking that maybe I don’t have a good memory.