Good Memory! Good Thing?

Like many other people in my family, I have a good memory. I don't say that to boast. To me, having a good memory is like being tall or having freckles. It's in the genes and has nothing to do with hard work, talent, or dedication. It just exists. I know there are many who will say that you can train yourself to have a good memory. Perhaps. But those recommendations always seem like little tricks to remember names or dates, not to contain a fairly full recollection of your life.

It had been decades since I saw the old photograph above. Of course, the awesomeness of wearing bright red pants that matched those of my always-groovy older sister and my young friend could be memorable to many. But, I also remember the friend's full name, that her father was a pastor at a church we sometimes attended, that she had two much older siblings (one with a lazy eye), and that, after eating a double portion of cake that day, she soiled her bright red pants. Which is why I'm kindly not saying her name. All of this came instantly back to me, in spite of the fact that at the time, I was clearly engrossed in a book published by mice.

My memory is nothing compared to that of my older sister or my deceased aunt. Aunt Gretchen, honestly, could tell you what she ate for dinner on any given occasion during the past decade. She knew birthdays, anniversaries, and addresses of rarely seen second or third cousins. My sister may start a conversation with, "The other day, I wondered what happened to Ed E., the nephew of Jenny L.'s handyman, during the fall of 1972." My more recently discovered aunt is the same way. She described, in detail, a hotel she stayed at when she was six in the late 1920's. Curious, I googled the "historic" hotel and it was exactly as she'd remembered it. This, it appears, is my heritage.

A question I often wonder is whether or not a good memory is truly an asset. The scales are usually in even balance on that one. Of course, the warm, bright, all-is-right-with-the-world moments are always wonderful to embrace. I decidedly force myself to turn away from the sometimes darker recollections of regret, anger, and sorrow. In between the two, though, are moments so fragile, so nearly elusive that I only speak of them in a whisper. And when everything is before me, those are the past experiences that make me deeply grateful for my memory.