by Meryl Neiman
It was the night before Halloween. Like a good mother, I scurried around getting my kids' costumes ready to take to school. Only I couldn't find the clown. My daughter had discovered it in my son's costume bag and tried it on a few weeks before. "I look cute," she pronounced. "I'll wear this." Being the savvy woman that I am, I knew enough not to put it back into my son's closet with the other costumes where it might get misplaced. I carefully secured it. Only now I had no idea where!
I have become one of the best educated stupid people I know.
I have no long term memory. Zero. Zilch. For a long time I wondered if my lack of childhood memories indicated some sort of repressed horror. Was I abused as a child? Abducted by aliens?
Now that I have gotten older, my childhood is not the only thing I can't remember. I still haven't found what I did with my daughter's Holloween costume. So I wasn't captured by a Satanic cult -- I'm just dumb.
And when you have kids, one of their prime jobs in life is to probe those missing brain cells. What causes lightning? Are tomatoes fruits or vegetables? Why do we burp?
And my answer is always: ask your father. My husband has an iron clad memory. He remembers everything he learned and he's learned quite a bit. So I refer almost all of my kids' questions to him. I went to college. And law school! But I am the household dunce.
What's the moral of this story? Save your money on college because your child might forget it all anyway.