Persistence of Memory

In May of 1974, I took a trip to Israel, Greece and London with my parents and one of my sisters. I was in sixth grade at the time. Prior to our departure, I gave my parents a hard time about making me go on a trip during the school year. I was unhappy about missing two weeks of school and having to make up all that homework.

I’d collected my assignments for the upcoming two weeks from all my teachers with the exception of my social studies teacher, Mr. Reiss. At the end of my last day of school before the trip, I stood in line to see him at his desk. As his conference with the student in front of me dragged on and on, I got concerned that I would miss my bus. I eventually left just in time to catch the bus for the 45-minute ride home.

When I returned to school two weeks later, some kids on the bus told me that Mr. Reiss had gone ballistic when he realized I hadn’t picked up my assignments. He angrily told the class he was going to make me copy the entire textbook by hand. When I did meet with him, my consequences were only slightly less severe. He told me that I had to memorize the textbook glossary, which consisted of 104 items. I would then stand up before the class and the students could ask me to define any word they selected from the glossary. My grade would be the percentage I got correct. It was clear to me that his goal was to embarrass me in front of my classmates.

As you might imagine, public humiliation was a huge fear for that somewhat timid middle-school boy. Armed with a high level of motivation and a good memory, I buckled down to the task at hand. I enlisted my parents’ help over the weekend to learn the glossary definitions, having them drill me repeatedly. In all, I spent about six hours to feel confident that I was ready.

The next week, as promised, I was called up to the front of the classroom for the big performance. In my mind, I can imagine Mr. Reiss’s smug face as he waited for me to publicly implode. A girl was appointed to tally my correct and incorrect responses on the front blackboard. I called on a student with their hand raised and was given my first word to define. My response exactly matched the textbook definition. After I got the first several definitions correct, I relaxed a bit and even began to enjoy the activity. In the end, I defined 13 words in a row perfectly before Mr. Reiss called off the exercise.

It was clear that Mr. Reiss was frustrated by my success. He asked me how long it took me to memorize the glossary and I said about six hours. He then told the class that if I could do it, they would all have to do it.

The next day, Mr. Reiss came into class and apologized for losing his temper. No, everyone would not have to memorize the glossary. I think he even specifically apologized to me. For whatever reason, after a night’s reflection, he felt chastised. This was Mr. Reiss’s first year teaching school, and it turned out to be his last. He didn’t return the following year. We spotted him delivering milk near the school.

My long-term memory has always been strong and remains so to this day. One of the reasons I enjoy sharing stories from my past is because I harbor such vivid memories of certain incidents that occurred decades ago. My short-term memory is fine, but it’s nothing like it was when I was 11 years old, standing with my back against a blackboard.

My mother started showing signs of dementia at around age 80. Her mild symptoms progressed rapidly and she spent almost a decade living with significant cognitive impairment. She sometimes thought I was her late brother. Both of Mom’s parents also suffered from dementia in their 80s and 90s. In contrast, my father had no signs of cognitive impairment when he passed away shortly before his 84^th birthday. I don’t know which genetic hand I’ve been dealt. Dementia is not something I spend much time worrying about, but I have to acknowledge there’s potential for it to be in my future, should I live long enough. The memories I rely on and am so fond of recalling may become inaccessible.

I have a strong intolerance to chocolate. Eating just a single M&M candy piece will precipitate a migraine headache the next day. I joke with my kids that if I ever lose my marbles, they need to remember to make sure my caregivers never give me chocolate. I can imagine becoming a problem patient like clockwork each time I’m served chocolate pudding for dessert.

An engrossing and helpful book I read during my mother’s journey with dementia is The Forgetting by David Shenk. I recommend it to those who are interested in exploring this topic.

Dementia risks aside, keeping my mind active is important to me in retirement. Here are some things I do to keep my brain muscles toned up:

Daily Word Games. I play the New York Times’ Wordle and Connections games every day.

Working Part Time. Though I’ve retired, I feel like I’m still at the top of my game in my profession. My current part-time position gives me the chance to still contribute and provides an appropriate level of mental challenge. Positive feedback I receive provides reassurance that my brain is still hitting on all cylinders.

Writing. Writing articles like this one for HumbleDollar keeps my mind stimulated and my brain engaged. I recently wrote an article for my high school’s alumni newsletter, which was fun. I’ll probably seek out other writing opportunities as my retirement progresses.

Volunteer Work. My wife and I teach the 2^nd and 3^rd grade Sunday School class at our church. We have over 20 lively, engaged youngsters in our class this year. Teaching kids imposes unique requirements on my brain.

Exercise. As I’ve written about before, getting exercise has become a priority for me over the past several years. There’s a significant connection between exercise and brain functioning. A book that explores this topic in detail is Spark: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain by John Ratey.

How about you? If retired, are you making it a priority to keep your mind sharp and your memory functioning? What activities do you engage in to help in this regard?