Persistence of Memory

The other night I was reading books with my grandson.  Atypically he picked a dinosaur book.  Dinosaurs were very big a few months ago but since spring came it has been all frogs, toads, bugs, etc.

But still.....

I pointed to a picture in the book and said "What's that one called?".

He paused a moment and said: "I don't always remember".

I was stunned.  This was Iguanadon one of his all time favorite dinosaurs.  But more to the point he had actually just said that he would not remember everything.  The frog hunts, the hide and seek, the puppet shows with Possum, favorite stories, visiting Humphrey the Camel, making big splashes with rocks off the dock.....would it all be forgotten?

I'm guilty of the occasional bit of hyperbole but I'm being totally serious when I said that this hit me hard.  I got a little teary eyed considering the ramifications.

He's three years old.  I know that very little from that age ever persists.  I can recall a few snippets, helped by the fact that we moved to a new house when I was four.  There was the nice lady named Kay who lived in the upstairs apartment.  She gave me treats.  There was that chubby kid who got stuck in the chimney of the backyard barbecue.  Thankfully it was not in operation.

But somebody will remember, right?  Maybe his parents but like all young working parents they are busy.  And many of the best memories come from sleep overs and grass hopper hunts and other times when it was just the two of us.

But I'll remember, right?  Well....I'll try.  In my family we tend to live pretty long and mostly keep our wits about us.  But there are limits.  As my father passed 90 he began to lose memories quickly.  And in reverse order.  The more recent events went first, then his working years, and finally at the end he lived in the world of his boyhood on the farm back in the 1920's.  And he was happy there.

If this happens to me it will be a lousy trick.  These recent memories are among the very best.  If I lose those first then what follows would be a long stretch of mixed stuff.  The worries about work and teen aged curfews and saving for the future.  Then further back, to my own childhood which was marred by a family tragedy that changed things forever.  I suppose eventually I'd get back to days of fishing and frog hunting with my own grandpa.  He was a good guy and I'd probably be happy living there again for a short while.

The grand son started preschool this fall.  Going off to school was the shadow looming over the very end of the last Winnie the Pooh story.  

"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred." Pooh thought for a little. "How old shall I be then?" "Ninety-nine." Pooh nodded. "I promise," he said. Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt Pooh's paw. "Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I--if I'm not quite--" he stopped and tried again-- "Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?" "Understand what?" "Oh, nothing." He laughed and jumped to his feet. "Come on!" "Where?" said Pooh. "Anywhere." said Christopher Robin.