I LOVE YOU, BUT CAN’T REMEMBER YOUR NAME
By Sam Grubb
This is a public apology for an affliction more embarrassing than the heartbreak of psoriasis. I love people, lots of them. There are very few that don’t attract me, I need them around me. The awful news for me is that names escape me. I often refer to my wife as “what’s her name”. The old joke goes like this:
Joe and Bob are in the living room, while their wives are in the next room
Bob, “ We ate at a great restaurant last night.”
Joe, “Great. What was its name?”
Bob, “What’s the name of that flower that smells good and has stickers on the stem?
Joe, A rose?”
Bob, hollers to the next room, “Rose, what was the name of that place we ate last night?”
Denny Flannigan has been teaching me music for over two years now. We practice twice a week, and spend quite a bit of time together outside of that. I went to introduce him last week and drew a blank.
That doesn’t even mention the whole bunch of friends we have here in town with whom we have shared meals and events. Some are rather good friends, and some are good acquaintances. I couldn’t put names to more than a dozen of them, and which dozen is highly variable. I’ve tried everything, even writing them down when we arrive at home, but have usually forgotten them by then. It is both embarrassing and humiliating. Not long ago at Pete’s Camp I introduced myself to a lady and she said, “I know, I’ve met you three times.” It gives the impression that I don’t care. Nothing could be further from the truth. I do, and I care about our friendship. If I don’t like you I’ll tell you to buzz off. Barring that please try to accept that I’m an aging fool with dramatically reduced mental capacity.
I don’t know what else to do, other than putting a big sign around my neck saying, “I love you but don’t remember your name.”