I have a very good memory but also a neglected one.
My sister scanned in a bunch of old photos and I can remember the events depicted vividly, complete with the strange emotions of a toddler or even infant. (Really! One of the most profound sense of sadness I’ve ever had in my life was on losing a balloon as a toddler.)
But I don’t spend much time in the past. The present is rather demanding, and what’s left of my attention I direct toward the future. There are certain (I hope irrelevant) similarities that I’ve forgotten, such as my own children resembling my sister and I as children. I’ve never thought of my mom looking much like my sister, but there is a strong favoring from certain angles.
There’s a swing-set, for example, in one of the photos which I remembered as being quite formidable (it was, for my uncoordinated 3-year-old self). There’s a photo of our tough ol’ alley cat, who survived out in the coyote-ridden hills, only to be killed by a German Shepherd breaking into our yard when we moved into a “safer” area. There are dingy couches, high hair and thin ties. There are uncomfortable suits–or at least uncomfortable kids in suits–cigarettes and booze.
I tend to be focused on my children’s growth rather than my own decay, which insists on itself in its own way. I think that’s probably a good thing.