Recognition

blankstare“The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

There’s just something about faces. You know, the juxtaposition of eyes, nose, and a mouth, ears on the side, and whatever type of chin someone possesses. I have seen a plethora of faces in my lifetime. They come and go quickly through my periphery, but for the most part they aren’t forgotten. In fact, I remember most faces I’ve ever seen, which is really no exaggeration. Sometimes I’m proud of that fact, and other times it makes me dreadfully sad.

I saw a man today who I haven’t seen in over five years, but I recognized him right off. However, I didn’t approach him to catch up on old times. For one, we were merely acquaintances way back then, and for another, he obviously didn’t remember me. I used to take that personally, wondering how someone could just forget me like that, but admittedly I wasn’t a huge part of his life, and/or memorable enough to make the list of people he would automatically recall. I could have taken the time to refresh his memory, but what would have been the point? “Oh yeah, I know you now.”

What makes me sad, though, are the times when I see someone who was significant to me in some former life but who has no idea who I am when we pass. Sometimes I even say hi, and they look at me like I’m a total stranger, even though for a solid block of time we were as close as two peas in a banana peel. For some people is it just easier to move on and forget, and is that a positive or a negative thing? Continue reading “Recognition”

Spare the Rod

I am partial to spanking. Please don’t hit me for saying that, but it’s true. I mean, you know as well as I do that most people are forgetful, especially when it comes to things they don’t want to remember, especially kids. So, why not use the method most likely to get them to remember: the physical reminder? I learned from an early age to equate getting hit with having done something bad.

My childhood was memorable for many reasons, not the least of which were the spankings I received quickly and often. Both of my parents grew up in the school of “spare the rod and spoil the child.” In fact, I heard that exact phrase more times than I would care to admit. Of course, even when they weren’t beating me and I was well-behaved (admittedly not that often), I don’t think anyone would have classified my existence as spoiled. So, to me that didn’t fly, but it didn’t stop them from spanking me when I was bad.

There was a special science to spanking me, too. Continue reading “Spare the Rod”