I have finally solved a major problem in my life. But I forget what it was.
I've always wondered which brain cells are assigned to memory duty. I'm sure they must
be the first ones to get damaged when, at the moment of birth, the umbilical cord gets cut
and the fresh oxygen supply from Mom stops and we gasp, surprised that such a cruel deed
has been done to us, and then we throw our first temper tantrum with a crying fit and
discover we have lungs.
In those few oxygenless moments, that's when we lose our memory of the familiar, dark,
wet homestead we've known since conception. That's when we forget the trip into the new
world that we took just moments before.
Do you remember these things? See what I mean? The brain cells assigned to
memory duty have been failing us from the very first day.
Apparently, we all enter this life with memory cell damage, which is why
children look at their parents blankly when asked, "Did you wash your hands for
dinner?"
"You wanted me to wash my hands?" they reply.
"We always tell you to wash your hands for dinner," the parents
respond.
"Oh, I forgot," say the children.
There are, however, very healthy brain cells that are especially good at retaining --
in great detail -- the memories we'd most like to forget. Such as the time in sixth grade
when I tried out for the school play by singing a hyena's rendition of My Country Tis
of Thee and I couldn't remember the words, let alone the notes. The teacher/director
said that everyone who auditioned would get at least a bit part in the chorus. I was cast
in the role of audience member, as long as I agreed to come with my parents, who would
undoubtedly keep me quiet.
My memory of that audition is so clear, I can still feel my vocal chords squeaking. I
can still see the teacher wincing. I can still forget the same words.
I have come to the thoroughly unresearched conclusion that the memory cells assigned to
embarrassing moments are located in the part of the brain that is farthest from those
memory cells that are supposed to store the really important information, such as my
husband's waist size when I go shopping for suit pants. I tend to remember him as the
skinnier man I married 17 years ago.
But now I have a new kind of brain that actually remembers Ralph's waist size, and this
is how I solved my major memory lapse problem. It's a fit-in-the-pocket computer, a
"digital diary." I thank God every day for this invention. At the push of a
button, this electronic device recalls for me telephone numbers, birthdays, appointments,
even what I forgot to do yesterday when I didn't remember to check my computer memory.
Jesus said he would send us the Holy Spirit, who would remind us of all things. He knew
the limitations we would have with our brains. So, what's keeping you, H.S.? Why did you
let me forget that Ralph already has 212 pairs of unusable size 32 pants?
Because you're too busy to listen to me, my child. That's why I'm always telling
you to slow down, wash your hands for dinner, and spend more time conversing with Me.
Oh, I forgot.
