Forget Me Not

My two earliest memories are from when I was 2: I can remember sitting in my high chair eating Alpha-Bits cereal. And I can remember the first time I went to Synagogue: my grandmother took me to one near our home, Beth David, where I would spend many a Sabbath in subsequent years.

I remember the general physical layout of the room, and I remember that on that first occasion, we sat on the left, near the back. Beyond any physical memories, I distinctly remember feeling very comfortable and very much at home in this strange, pleasant place. It felt like a special place that brought out the best in people. Obviously, I would not have been able to articulate such thoughts at the ripe old age of 2, but that is definitely the overall impression I still retain of that visit.

I was once told by a friend of mine that regarding such early memories, eventually what we retain is not memories of the actual events themselves, but rather, memories of our memories of the events. I'm not sure how you would measure when a memory had passed from the former to the latter category, but intuitively, this very much makes sense to me. (Although it begs the question: do we eventually retain only the memory of the memory of the event? And so on?)

It's funny how we can retain a general impression of things, even absent any specific memories. For example, I can think of some teachers from my school days of which I have absolutely zero specific memories, and nevertheless, I am left with a very distinct general impression of whether I liked that teacher or not. (Happily, with two exceptions, the lasting impressions are pleasant.)

When I was in my teens, I was reading Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. My father noticed my reading selection, and he mentioned to me that he too had read it in his youth. After a brief discussion, it emerged that he did not recall the main character's name. I was dumbfounded -- how could you read an entire book and not remember the main character's name? Meanwhile, it appears that I have very much followed in my father's footsteps.

I have an unusual ability to remember when most of the vignettes of my life have occurred. Whenever I tell someone a tale, be it from my misspent youth or my misspent adulthood, I am almost always able to recall the exact year during which said event occurred.

Meanwhile, about 5 years ago, I decided that it was high time to read some of the books on my bookshelf that I had purchased but never gotten around to reading. So I pulled one out and started reading it. I was enjoying it quite a bit. But then on page 10, I noticed that I had made a note in the margin. What the dickens?! I already read this?! I started flipping the pages of the book, and there were marginal notes all the way to page 200!

I had read 200 pages of a book, and not only did I not remember one iota of what I had read -- I had managed to forget the very fact that I had read those 200 pages!

But I can tell you with absolutely certainty that the time I spun my baby sister around took place in the year 1976...