I have an amazingly, astoundingly, shockingly bad memory. I don't forget birthdays or anniversary dates - just everything else. Short term or long term, it's all Swiss to me. I don't remember names, events or last week. Mnemonic devices are worthless.
I am always taken aback at how well other people remember things from long ago. Diahan can remember events from as early as 2 years old. I can remember maybe half a dozen events (total) between the ages of 2 and 8. I am not making this up. My sisters, who read this blog, will vouch for this statement in the comments section. Of course, they - my sisters - think that this is a coping mechanism and that I am purposefully suppressing these errant memories. This may be true; and if it were, I am a whole lot happier for it. So, I've never really had a problem with my "problem." It's merely an inconvenience. I'm prematurely aging, as it were.
As a result, Diahan is the arbiter / judge / jury of our past. If I start a conversation with "remember when . . ." she will finish it with what really happened. For years early on in our marriage I would make "remember when" statements only to have her say, "Honey, that wasn't me. That was with another girl." I was well intentioned.
I have no footing on which to make any substantial objections, should I not go along with the official version of any story. And Diahan knows this. Try as I might, I can't even convince myself that I am right. More and more, Diahan doesn't need to remind me that I can't remember anything - it's been replaced with a sympathetic look and "That's nice, honey." Judgment has been passed. So it is written - so let it be done. No appealing, please.
Taken to its logical conclusion, you really shouldn't ever believe a word I say. Not because I am may or may not be trustworthy, but because I'm likely not giving the "right" story - unless it is trivial. I'm fairly good at Trivial Pursuit.
Even with regards to this blog, I couldn't be trusted to write our own story. That was unanimously given to Diahan to write. For years I would tell our story at dinner parties, only to have the opposing party give her rebuttal publicly.
All of which brings me to the media of the story. I came across this video from the TV version of This American Life. (Insert heaping praise for program here.) The thesis is how differently married people remember stories / the past. This particular clip is about a husband who clearly remembers himself present at a rather embarrassing moment for his wife. The problem is that he really wasn't there. This isn't a story of a faulty memory, rather of how as married people we sometimes "write" each other into the storyline.
Needless to say, variations on this theme occur daily for us.
2 comments:
I am Jared's oldest sister and the oldest of all the siblings. He is absolutely correct in saying he remembers nothing. For years we have informed him that he did in fact have a childhood and he was the biggest pest! We have told him of his numerous foibles and blunders as all big sisters feel entitled to do. Jared did however spend most of his childhood hiding. He was always hiding under a bed, closet or outside somewhere. He was always somewhere else escaping our crazy reality. Maybe that is the bigger key to this puzzle. If you weren't around, I suppose you would have fewer memories. But I do also subscribe to the theory that he did block out his childhood memories and they will come back at some future time when he is better equipped to deal with them, OR NOT. Or perhaps he will be so good at repressing his memories that he will have convinced his subconscious that he was never little! Who knows? I should just be glad he remembers me. And I do believe with this being his history that Diahan should always be right.
love,
Annie
First, if you will permit me a sentimentality: I am so very glad that it is me that you have written into your life- even when it wasn't me. Perhaps that is the downside of actually having a memory- I can painfully recall all the moments I have had without you that I wish we had shared.
On a more practical note, this whole loss of memory thing happened to us just the other day. It was in regards to a trip to the bank and who reminded who (or should it be whom?). After this little post and the testimony of Jared's sister, I am sure there is no doubt in anyone's mind that I did actually remind him to go to the bank, and he didn't remember on his own.
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