photo credit http://www.sxc.hu/profile/the_mutt%5B/caption
I remember everything. Everything.
I can tell you about things that happened in nursery school. My teacher’s name was Mrs. Snyder. David Zells ate paste. There were twins named Fish. In first grade, Mrs. Weinberger (who was just out of school and got married that year) was the nicest teacher ever. I can name the people in my class. I actually ran into a woman who is now a successful attorney about a year ago and I said, hey you were in my first grade class.
My second grade teacher was Mrs. Johnson. She was really short. One of the boys in my class (in second grade!) was taller than she was. She taught us how to spell community. Miss Paperman was the teacher in the next class over. She and my Aunt Phyl are friends still. I lent her a book of plays for the Thanksgiving assembly. I don’t remember why. My class did a rhythmic thing with sticks sitting criss-cross applesauce on the stage. I can still do the performance flipping the sticks.
Third grade, Mrs. Weiner. That was a tough year. She gave me a really hard time about sucking my thumb. In front of everyone. All the time. And yes, I know third grade is too old to suck your thumb but you know what? I was insecure and that teacher did not exactly help. Miss Ossen was my forth grade teacher. She was great & we had a student teacher whose name escapes me (it starts with an H) but I’ll remember soon, I promise. She was very pretty. I met my friend Sarah in that class – she came to our school part way through the year. Sarah and I sang Leaving on a Jet Plane at the talent show. I got sick and threw up at school one day after a lunch of orange juice and an orange. In the middle of the hallway. You can imagine.
I also broke my foot that year riding my bike. My friend Randy was supposed to sleep over that night but the whole hospital thing messed the night up.
I could go on. But I think you get the point. I remember stuff.
The other night, Andrew and I went to Gypsy Sally’s in DC to see an old friend perform. He was a high school friend. I saw some old friends who I keep in touch with and it made me smile. There were some people I hadn’t seen since high school and it was a lovely surprise to see them. And then. Being introduced to a guy and saying “really nice to meet you” and hearing back “Oh, we know each other from school” and not remembering him.
I tried to remember him. I really did.
But I didn’t. And don’t.
He was nice, though. And it seems like he’s had a good life.
I remember what I bought for lunch every single day in high school. A Tastykakes fudge bar and a coke. (Sorry, Mom.) I remember my English teacher, Mrs. Hartley and her nice though slightly crooked smile. I remember French class with Mrs. Jones (and my wonderful friend Laurie) and I remember working on yearbook and canned food drive and the junior prom when my date, Marc, left with another girl.
Seriously, I remember everything about everything. Except this guy.
I looked him up in the yearbook last night. It didn’t help.
On the other hand, I had a blast seeing all my old friends with their huge glasses and huge hair and remembered it all.