Elephants?

Every day, I am more convinced that memory loss is not a disease of the aged.  Memory loss is a protective mechanism of the brain, and it affects people of all ages.

I won't use the typical example of not remembering what I had for breakfast.  I remember what I had for breakfast.  It's really easy to remember what you had for breakfast when you never eat breakfast at all.  But breakfast aside, I would say I have a pretty spectacular memory.  I inherited it from Dad.  We have something Mom calls a "sponge brain."  We absorb, retain, and randomly spew information of all kinds (mostly useless kinds).  Nevertheless, I find that I am affected by memory loss.

One of my favorite literary passages of all time is found at the beginning of the classic book Peter Pan.  That book is chock full of excellent things, including the absolute best fairy creation story out there, but this one thing in particular really stuck with me.  The passage talks about what goes on when children go to sleep at night.  Guess what?  Our mothers are even more awesome than we thought-- in addition to giving birth, and taking care of us, and being all-around fantastic and superhero-like, moms can also organize our brains.

Apparently, moms get into our brains while we sleep, and rearrange things a bit.  They decide what is good for us to keep at the front of our minds, and what can be kept a little buried.  Well, maybe it isn't our moms, but the concept is definitely sound.  Whether it's moms that organize it or simply certain neurons firing in our incredibly complicated melons, the point is that memory is most definitely selective.

If you don't believe me, dig deep in your junk drawer and pull out a CD you loved in eighth grade, or thereabouts.  Put it in a CD player.  Hit play.  Once you get past the strange nostalgic deja vu, tell me if you don't slowly start to remember every single word to every single song on that CD you buried so long ago.  You would never have known you remembered that at all, but there it was!  Hidden, in the back of your mind.

And it doesn't take much to trigger these forgotten memories.  Anytime I smell mothballs, I remember my Great-Grandmother.  When I hear WhisperLoud music, I could swear I'm in seventh grade again.  A movie line, a journal entry, a pair of bright blue eyes...  Do my memories ever end?  It's pretty amazing how things that you didn't even remember you'd forgotten can suddenly jump back to the forefront of your mind, reminding you that they were there all along.

My mother says I have a selective memory.  I have come to learn that this is sort of an insult.  Maybe that's why I liked the Peter Pan passage so much -- I could blame everything I forgot on Mom.  But Mom sees things differently.  Mom thinks I forget things on purpose.

Considering what kinds of things I forget, I suppose that's a fair opinion.  I quite often forgot about homework when I was in school, especially when that homework was for the dreaded math class.  Mom used to say it was "convenient" that I had forgotten my math book.  And usually, I agreed with her.  Until I got my report card, that is.

Also, I tend to forget any instance when I was wrong.  Sometimes, my friends like to remind me of conversations in which a theory I had was debunked quite soundly.  At least, they claim it is a reminder.  Many times, I don't believe such a conversation really existed.  Two shining examples of this are seared into my memory, so I can never forget them again.

Example #1: When we were in high school, my amazingly smart valedictorian BlueFriend got very, very sick.  She missed a lot of school.  Although I despise talking on the phone, BlueFriend had been absent enough to make me worry, and I called her to find out what the heck was going on.  She dared to tell me that she had "walking pneumonia."  I quickly assured her that there was no such thing.  I told her she must have plain old pneumonia, or a really bad flu, but she couldn't have walking pneumonia, because it simply didn't exist.  We argued about it until the day we graduated high school.

Now, I am told that I came across the term "walking pneumonia" in a book I was reading for class at my university.  I am also told that I called BlueFriend to apologize for being so incredibly wrong for so incredibly long.  I do not remember either of these occurrences.  But I do remember that the next time the subject came up, I was thoroughly harangued for not remembering.  And walking pneumonia definitely exists.

Example #2: When I began my sophomore year of college, my work-study assignment was transferred to the Student Activities Center.  It was a great gig.  I came in for my scheduled time, and usually I just wasted that time and got paid for it.  If they ever did have a job for me, it was always something sort of fun, like making posters and putting them up all over campus (I never minded walking around campus -- my university was patterned after Oxford, and is widely revered as the most beautiful campus in the United States).

In addition to the simple nature of the job, I also had an awesome boss.  AwesomeBoss was an easygoing family man, who really knew the students of the university, and knew how to throw a party they would love.  For instance, he organized a hockey fieldtrip for more than twenty students, on which we traveled to Nashville for a Predators game (woo-hoo!), and ate at Steak & Shake on the way back.  It was a simple, yet wonderful trip!

But at the end of the year, I am told that AwesomeBoss informed me that he would not be coming back.  I am told he gave me several reasons.  I am told I was rather put out about it.  I do not remember any of these occurrences.  But I do remember when I reported for duty on the first day of my junior year.  NewBoss was definitely not awesome.  As I was complaining to BrownFriend about NewBoss, I wondered aloud why AwesomeBoss was no longer with us.  BrownFriend informed me that I was an idiot.  She didn't use exactly those words, but that's the nitty-gritty.  And BrownFriend's memory for conversation is impeccable, so I believe I told her what she says I told her.

There are many other things I "conveniently" forget, if my mother's theory is to be believed.  I forget doing anything I know I shouldn't have.  I forget any and all embarrassing moments, let alone my worst -- seriously, that essay question/ice-breaker question is the bane of my existence, because I honestly do not remember ever being embarrassed.  I also forget orders I don't want to follow, particularly if I am outside, or watching a movie, or reading.

But I have to say it's a little hypocritical of Mom to point out my failings in memory, when she has confided to me over and over that the only reason any woman gives birth more than once is because she literally forgets what it feels like to be in labor.  She explained that after such a traumatic shock, your brain has to protect itself, so it erases your memory of all that intense pain.  You only remember when you're going through it again, like with the CD.  Except remembering labor while you're in labor is like a million times less pleasant than realizing you remember your eight grade music choices verbatim...

I have decided that my brain is simply ahead of the game.  When I forgot my math homework, it was because my brain knew that it would be a traumatic shock to be forced to complete such an awful task.  When I forget orders I don't want to follow, it's because my brain knows it will be a traumatic shock for me not to finish my outdoor activity, or my movie, or my book.  And obviously any failures and embarrassing moments are far too traumatic to remember, not to mention the utter horror of being wrong.  So really, people should be admiring my brain for its amazing protective abilities, not harpooning it for being selective.  I admire my brain for its consideration of my well-being.

But even though I have decided these things about memory, one thing still perplexes me.  Why did they pick elephants to be the epitome of an excellent memory?  I don't get it.  Of all the creatures they could have chosen, they picked elephants.

I guess it's just more proof that I should have been around when all these cultural isms were invented.