Michael often teases me about my excellent memory for songs and the like. I suppose this is okay payback for when I tease him about mistaken lyrics. Listen, Henry, Mama is making up verses again. I know six verses for “Jesus Loves Me,” for instance.
My knack for memorization got me through comprehensive exams unscathed. It makes me a good reader, a good listener and a good teacher. It gives me songs to sing when I am sad, or when Henry is resisting a nap. It gives me poetry to recite when I’m stuck in a waiting room or an elevator, or an MRI. It gets me through my day.
I sometimes can’t recall what I needed at the grocery store, or why I walked into a room, but I am thankful for my memory. And for the impulse I have to memorize, to memorialize. I probably will not keep this gift forever, but I shall cherish it while I can.