01/29/03’s illustrious band:

Mimeographic Memory

Brought to you by my late father, who has been gone from us a startling two years now.

Dad was reputed by his college roommates to have a photographic memory -- some of the time. He could somehow tell when it was going to kick in and would hit the books during such intervals to maximize retention. If not 100% accurate, this ability was at least enough to make his roommates jealous that he could maintain better grades than most people while studying less.

Sister-san and I appear to have inherited lesser degrees of his talent. Both of us can tell you where on a page we read a particular passage, what people were wearing at a particular event, or how oft-quoted lines from movies and TV really go. We recall plots and conversations in detail and were always the first to have lines memorized for the school play -- ours and everyone else’s. We both did well in school, too, like Dad, but I don’t recall either of us ever announcing that we were feeling photographic and needed to study quick before it went away.

I think Sister-san got more of the knack than I did; she can glance once at a map, put it away and navigate flawlessly, while I require more time to talk myself through the route. She also used to kick my keister at an Atari video game called Maze Craze, where one of the variations featured a maze that was partially or entirely invisible most of the time. A few quick blinks of the layout were all she needed to guide her gamepiece through the twists and turns in record time.

For my part, I tend to textualize things and remember them that way. Once the environment has been converted into words, if I decide to remember it, I’ve got it. For instance, I might provide mental closed captioning for a conversation (with correct punctuation, of course) and add narrative detail, such as, “‘Come live with me and be my love,’ he whispered, leaning forward.” It’s like telling myself a story. I’ve tried visualizing nametags on people when I meet them, but that works less well; usually all I can conjure up on our next meeting is an image of a nametag, blank.

So when I say I’ve got it, what I should really say is that I’ve pretty much got it. My memory isn’t truly photographic -- I don’t have perfect recall. I’d call mine more of a mimeographic memory: I might get a slightly fuzzy copy, but for most purposes it’s still good enough to refer to later.

Anyway, that’s just another ramble through my cluttered mental landscape. On the anniversary of Dad’s passing, I can think of no better way to remember him than to appreciate the very literal sense in which our genetic inheritance keeps his memory alive.

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