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JACK GODBEY

Contributing Columnist

Having a good memory does not mean you’re not stupid

It seems that people complain about a bad memory a lot. I have a friend whose memory is so bad he could plan his own surprise party. We’ve all experienced walking into a room and suddenly you have no idea why you came. You stop and think and then give up only to remember again halfway down the hall and turn around and repeat the process until you start to wear a path in the carpet.

I’ve noticed that when someone is trying to get out of doing a task they don’t want to do, their memory conveniently disappears faster than the TVs on Black Friday. I had a co-worker that could recite the score for every Super Bowl for the last 20 years, but when it was time to work, he conveniently forgot to do his part.

There are parts of aging that we experience at some time or another, but I can say with enthusiasm that memory loss is not one I worry about. I am one of those annoying people who was born with a photographic memory. I drive my wife crazy when we visit a restaurant that we haven’t been too in several years and I can tell her where we sat, what we ordered and even where we parked in the parking lot years earlier. There are advantages to a good memory for sure. It made my schoolwork pretty simple. I didn’t have to study much which left more time for getting in trouble.  However, I sometimes envy the people who have a memory like the Bermuda Triangle. You know the kind that has information go in, but is never heard from again. There are events and conversations that I would very much like to forget, but there they are waiting on me each morning in a line longer than the one for free cheese on commodity day.

I recall a time from my childhood when I was only a few years old. We were visiting family and I was ready to go home, but in typical southern flare, the process of leaving is long and drawn out. We would make it to the door and then someone would comment how good the pie was and then we would have to stop while our host got the recipe. Step by step we made it to the door again when someone asked about a long-lost cousin and then we would have to stop while the picture album was dug out to show the latest pictures. I wanted none of that and started to cry and pull on my mother’s shirt tail. Instead of doing what I wanted, I was placed in jail. OK, it was actually a play pen, but it seemed like jail at the time. This didn’t go over well with me, and I decided to get my retaliation and proceeded to stomp until the bottom of the pen gave way and I showed them I meant business. When you come out of the womb with cornbread in one hand and mashed potatoes in the other, you grow big enough to pull off stunts like this.

I think back to so many funny and entertaining stories from my upbringing, and thanks to a good memory, I can remember them with clarity. However, sometimes this leads to memories I’d like to forget but can’t. For example, I remember the valuable lesson I learned one day when I was out in a field and nature called. As any country boy would do, I whipped out the goods and let it fly. Unfortunately, when I peed, it was on an electric fence. Just because you have a good memory doesn’t mean you’re not stupid.