The Curse of the Elephant Memory

There is scientific evidence supporting the idiom “An elephant never forgets”. The Greeks originally said this of camels but as time went by, the camels were shut out of the world of idiom attribution and all the glory went to the elephants--a fact the camels have not forgotten. If you read the comments on my post about collecting stuff, you will remember the reference Melinda made to my “elephant memory” coming back to haunt her. I don’t know what she’s talking about. I didn’t realized she had fears about what I remember. Sarah also has had some unfortunate experiences with my memory. We were friends for about 5 years before I finally got her birthday right. A common phrase around that time of year was, “You can remember lines from the most obscure movies that no one in the world has seen besides you, but you can’t remember my birthday!?!” It’s true, though, I have a ridiculous capacity for recollection, although, in recent years my short-term memory has suffered lags and lapses, much to the frustration of not a few friends. (Sorry, y’all! Truly I am!)

Having a good memory does have its good features. For instance, I remember where I was when I told Flee about the boy who split his chocolate with me. I remember information that helps me take tests really well. I remember what happened when my arm was broken at age 3 . . . the whole ordeal down to keeping my Grandma Robertson up late into the night on popsicle runs until I had consumed all the cherry ones. I remember what my high school crush was wearing the first day I ever saw him, which was the first day of 8th grade. I remember the very first time I met Angie Burns: at Sunset in Carlsbad when the AIMers came and did a flag ceremony--I was a junior in high school. I remember the silly game Melinda and I played in our quarters at Skyridge that involved launching a scrunchie back and forth without using our hands. (It’s amazing how you can find ways to entertain yourself when there’s no TV!) I remember what I was wearing the day I was baptized. I remember when I realized that I could understand what a Scottish person was saying with out having to ask them to repeat themselves. I remember great and silly moments from my life. I remember Scotland. Some of the good memories are bittersweet. For the good times, though, the love and laughter--I am grateful for my elephant memory.

Having a good memory also has its disadvantages because with equal clarity do I remember the bad stuff. I remember the fear I felt when my arm broke at age 3. I was terrified of my babysitter, a mean and horrible woman in whose character my mother was deceived. I couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard I tried. (Of course, she was the one crying when she realized what had happened to me because she had left all us children unsupervised.) I remember when my best friend since first grade and a handful of other girls I had known as long decided I wasn’t cool enough to hang out with them anymore. I remember the stupid things I did in pursuit of boys all through my adolescence that only acquired me extreme mortification. I remember the shame I felt when my 8th grade History teacher caught me cheating on an assignment--I couldn’t bear his disappoint in me. I remember everything I’ve ever done that has hurt someone I loved. I remember the day I realized the man I loved most in the world didn’t love me in the same way. Having the memory of an elephant has been somewhat of a curse. I can recall pain, fear, shame, and feel it so acutely once again. It has contributed to my struggles with depression and has prevented me from being my true self because I fear how I will be perceived or judged or reviled.

One of my favorite movies is The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. My memory has been a source of endless frustration for me and a double-edged sword. I would love to be able to erase certain things from my head, but unlike the “science” in the film, I don’t think I can do that without wiping out the good along with the bad. I don’t want to give up the good, even when the good makes my heart ache. At least, I know that it happened. And that really is the thing, isn’t it? Erasing my memories does not change the fact that the events happened and the way they affected me and shaped who I am does not change.

Yet as I grow older, I am starting to make peace with my elephant memory. I am beginning to see how God has used some of the more painful experiences to make me a better person today. I’m a more compassionate teacher, childcare worker, and friend because I know what it’s like to feel rejected. I’m more sensible about relationships because of my history with men. I take responsibility for the mistakes I make and accept when I’m just wrong because of 8th grade History. I certainly haven’t cheated again. I know that God is and will continue to work through my experiences with depression and bring somthing good from it. I’m working on not thinking so much about the more painful stuff in my memories, not giving things that happened years ago power over me today. It’s far from easy, but everyday I feel the curse is lifting.