“You’ll remember,” I tell myself. “You’re leaving in five minutes or less, how could you forget?”
Of I’ll go, to get my apple or glass of water, pop my shoes on, grab my keys, walk out the door, drive the 20 minutes to my destination, step out of the car, walk to the door, and THEN and only then will it comes back to me. “Oh yeah ... the present.”
Now this isn’t some new development, slipping in with the sands of time, age declining my ability to stay on track. Oh no. This has been ongoing my whole life.
“Remember to take your folder” my mother would say as I walked towards the door. “
“Of course, mum,” I would answer, as I wandered off to see if the frosts had frozen over the pools of water lying in the bottom of the wheelbarrow. Might be a good morning to break some Ice on the walk to the bus? And forget my folder.
When babies came along so too did a whole new set of challenges. Spare clothes, nappies, dummies, formula, bottles, the baby itself, all things that at various stages of early parenthood I found myself without and wanting.
Could it be inherited? I asked myself. Would these small humans grow to be as forgetful as their father, or would the curse of the forgetful brain end with me, and all these wee cherubs to live a full and forget-free life.
The answer to that question came in the form of a phone call sometime last week at 8.25 am while I sat at work.
“Dad, don’t be mad but I’ve forgotten all my hockey gear again.”
Like father-like daughter.
“I’ll drop it off,” I answered, and proceeded to completely forget to do so.
