After my revelations of memory in the post “Amnesia,” I had begun to develop a bit of a fat head at my ability to recall very early memories. But last night this nascent pride was shattered when, out of the blue, I contacted a childhood friend I haven’t seen for over fifty years.
His memory is prodigious and puts mine to shame. He even remembers being changed as an infant and having his butt wiped by his mother. (I have no such memory.) But he agrees with me: the experts are wrong about early memories.
Our friendship was in its heyday when “The Mickey Mouse Club” (the first one) was still on the air. It came to an end when my family moved to a new home in the ‘suburbs’ when I was midway through the fourth grade. How old was I then? Nine?
So you can imagine his surprise when I called him last night after all this time. And you can imagine my surprise when he told me he’d thought of me earlier in the day yesterday. And you can imagine his surprise that I had half-expected he would tell me something like that.
It will therefore come as no surprise to you that we plan to keep in touch. The bonds of shared history seem to transcend time, space, and experience.
And it may never have come to pass had I not declared a recess in yesterday’s post.
The Solstice is tomorrow.
61° and Cloudy