Each
morning in the Alanreed
coffee shop we recall the exploits and escapades of old in great detail but are
seldom able to remember the names of those involved. The next morning we remember
the names in great detail but have forgotten the exploits and escapades. Does
that sound familiar?
Forgetfulness can in some cases legitimately be blamed
on poor health and old age. However a few of us have suffered the malady since
birth. I am one of those people. I seem to always remember what interests me but
never remember less interesting people or items.
I have a younger brother,
four years younger, who suffered time and again because of my forgetfulness. Here
is the sad story.
We lived 15 miles south of Perryton
on a dirt road now called Texas Highway 70. I was in high school, had a car and
was dating my first wife. The regular Saturday night routine included providing
a ride to town for brother Don, dropping him off at the Ellis Theater on Main
Street, then proceeding on to pick up my date for the evening's activities.
Brother
ate popcorn, drank Cokes, saw the newsreels, comedies and main feature twice from
beginning to end, then walked around the corner to the hotel where he sat in the
lobby reading funny books borrowed from the newsstand in the lobby. We had made
arrangements with the manager for this wait. My date had a curfew which I obeyed
faithfully. After dropping her at her home I was supposed to go by the hotel and
pick up little brother and return to our home in the country.
Time and
again this routine was broken as I would arrive at home, walk in the door where
mother met me asking, "Where is Don?" I would have to drive 15 miles back to town
and retrieve him from the hotel lobby. I could blame exhaustion, excitement from
my date or being in love. The real truth of the matter, I just plain old forgot
him.
I am thankful that Don has never seemed to hold it against me for
leaving him stranded night after night in the hotel lobby. I could never have
been as tolerant as he if the circumstances were reversed. In today's world a
psychologist would probably find I had abused my brother by continually forgetting
to pick him up before going home causing some sort of mental hangup.
Interestingly,
to this day, Don enjoys movies, television movies, rerun movies and all forms
of such entertainment. He loved funny books until grown and guarded his favorites
with passion.
Now, I ask the question. Did Don have this interest from
birth inherited from his forefathers? Or, was this a trait contained in his genes
that I somehow awakened? Or, maybe did my forgetfulness all those years forcing
him to watch movies twice and read every funny book in the newsstand somehow embed
into his brain and become a trait?
© Delbert Trew
"It's All Trew" December 15, 2008 Column
E-mail: trewblue@centramedia.net.
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