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Bob
Batz
Read Bob's bio and previous columns
July 21, 2008
And Now, A Column About
. . . Wait, I Forget
Now that I’ve watched my 68th birthday come and go, I find
myself tiring of all those people who believe individuals my age are
forgetful.
Forgetfulness, they contend, comes with the territory for people my age.
Well, I’m here to tell you that simply isn’t true. For once and forever,
let’s get something straight, OK?
Just because a man or woman is in his or her 60s, 70s or 80s doesn’t
mean that person is forgetful. And to say he or she is forgetful is
really unfair.
Just in case you haven’t noticed, plenty of older people have minds that
are as sharp as proverbial tacks.
Furthermore, the people who . . . um . . . er . . . now what was I
talking about? Ah . . . er . . . oh, yeah, now I remember. To say that
we are . . . are . . . are . . . oh, yes, forgetful is about the
silliest thing I’ve ever heard.
Sure, some of us have what I call “temporary lapses of memory.”
It’s also true that like many people my age, I tend to occasionally
forget certain things, but then I suddenly remember what it is I forgot
and everything is fine. My memory lapses rarely last longer than a
minute, maybe two minutes at the most.
Except, of course, for the time I couldn’t remember my address, my shoe
size and the last four digits of my Social Security number. For 11
months.
Sure, I locked my keys in the car for eight straight days last summer,
but, hey, I was under a great deal of stress at that particular time.
And, yes, I admit I do occasionally confuse the name of the street I
live on with another street name in my town, but that, too, is an honest
mistake because the two streets have similar names.
For awhile, I used a clever little gimmick to help me remember names,
dates, places and other important stuff. I tied a piece of string around
one of my fingers and whenever somebody asked me a question I
couldn’t answer, I glanced at the string and the proper reply
immediately popped into my head.
Unfortunately, I was forced to abandon that plan after a friend asked me
“Hey, Bob, how come you have a piece of string tied to your finger?” and
I told him, “I forget.”
Fortunately, after that episode, my first wife Sally came to my rescue.
I
consider myself fortunate to have a kind, loving wife like Sally who
goes to great lengths to help me remember things. Our marriage is a
45-year union based on love and respect, and whenever I have a brief
lapse of memory, she quickly steps in and saves the day.
Furthermore, she’s never angry because something slipped my mind.
Except, of course, for that night four weeks ago when I called her
“Vera” at a cocktail party.
She didn’t speak to me for 14 days.
Then, on the morning of the 15th day, she uttered three
little words to break the silence.
She didn’t say “I love you,” but she did say “Get lost, loser”, and the
way I look at it, at least it was a start.
Contact Bob at
bbatz@woh.rr.com
© 2008
North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.
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