I don’t have many memories of school.  I do remember in elementary school showing up for my baseball game only wearing socks.  I do remember in middle school always being reminded of homework and then trying to complete it on the bus.  I do remember day after day in high school running to my locker in a panic to get books and assignments that I forgot for classes.  All my life I have been forgetful.


One of the memories seared into my head as a child happened as I was leaving the bathroom at the Yale Bowl.  My dad looked down at me and said, “boy, you would forget that thing in the bathroom if it wasn’t attached.”


This morning a teacher walked in and asked if I had the schedule for the day.  After I said no, she reminded me that she gave me two the day before.  The kids know to never tell me anything and expect me to remember it.  At the end of the day, I can sometimes have a series of notes attached to my laptop that they placed there to remind me of things they told me.


I tell anyone who hands me a piece of paper that there is pretty much no hope that I will know where the paper will be the next day (yes, google drive is a savior to me).


I used to feel really bad about my forgetfulness.


I fell really bad when teachers bring up kids and talk about how they are disorganized, messy, and forgetful.  In the last few years I have entered the conversation by saying “I am that kid.”   If you could only see my view right now as I look down at my desk…


I have two filing cabinets in my classroom that are full.  Of what?  I do not know.


By most definitions of the word, I have had a successful life.  I have finally figured out some tricks.  The note system for my kids that are left on my laptop, finally utilizing Google calendar (most of the time), and of course writing notes between my thumb and index fingers so I see them when I drive, and if that doesn’t work I’ll see the note again when I eat.


I have a daughter who is forgetful.  She shared this with me tonight.


Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them –
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
they’re busy
the important things.


And I have this note on my desk right now, if you have any idea why I am supposed to be calling my dad please let me know 🙂

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