Coprolite Newsletter, March 2006

Those of us who are blessed with excessive maturity tend to be way too nice to the rest of the population. For example, when they make fun of us for not remembering something, we just passively accept the criticism. We even worry that the young punks are right; there must be something wrong with us.

Nonsense!

Let’s try a simple test. Ask one of those young people how many presidents they personally remember. What did they look like, what did their voices sound like? Maybe they can recall all the way back to Ronald Reagan or Jimmy Carter. Well, I remember them all the way back to FDR. Even if you only go back as far as Eisenhower or Kennedy, you’ve got a lot more presidents to remember than these young kids. Not to mention senators, mayors, and movie stars. So it’s not that our memories don’t work any more; it’s just that they’re busy remembering a lot more stuff.

We carry around more world, local, and family history. We’ve been more places, seen more things, learned more hard lessons. We’ve loved more and been angry more. We’ve had to build a lot of rooms, closets, and shelves in our heads to hold it all. Our memories aren’t feeble; they’re hauling an immense load.

If you see a guy carrying a hod of bricks, would you criticize him for not stopping to pick up a penny off the ground? No! He’s already lifting more than enough. (And if you’re a young twerp you probably don’t even remember what a “hod” is.)

So why criticize me if I don’t add your phone number to my already overloaded memory bank? I’m sure your number is every bit as nice to have as that shiny penny, but I’m not willing to go through the strain required to add it to my collection.

There are calendars and PDAs to help me recall minor things like doctor appointments (at least, when I happen to look at the day’s schedule). People I converse with are usually cooperative in reminding me who the heck they are. This frees me to devote my built-in memory to the heavy stuff. Things like the jaunty angle of FDR's cigarette holder, the booklet of ration stamps so carefully hoarded by my mother, and the menacing monotone of Humphrey Bogart. No PDA is big enough to hold heavy-duty memories like those.

So from now on, don’t feel embarrassed when you forget someone’s name, or what day it is, or your PIN number. Instead, applaud yourself for the vast amount of more important stuff that you DO remember.

––Wayne Adams
wayne@coprolites.com
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