Rewriting History

I reconnected with an old friend from Facebook. He'd recently seen "Fiddler on the Roof" and remembered fondly the year I was in the high school play and played a character named Brusilla.

Earlier this week, another old friend registered his son at the school where I work as a counselor. He announced to the office staff that I cried at our five year class reunion because he was drinking a beer.

I invited my parents to a graduation a few years ago so they could see what a marvelous school I work for and be impressed by the quality of students we graduate. My dad still rants and raves about the articulate and stirring commencement address I gave that year.

The aforementioned sentences all have one thing in common. I didn't do any of this stuff.

I've been in a couple of Road Shows but never with much, if any, speaking parts. I'll sing, dance, swing from the rafters for a show, but I'd never take a role in which I had much, if anything, to say. I am very aware of the fact that I stutter.

Poor Wade from high school is delusional to think I might care enough about him drinking a beer. By the time I'd attended my first class reunion, I had survived two years of Utah's "party school" which incidentally, ranked in the top 5 in the nation that year. My favorite roommate, Angie, came home home completely smashed most weekend nights, tried various drugs, and had more than a couple of pregnancy scares. Loved the girl dearly but never shed a tear for her experimental streak.

As far as giving the commencement speech at a graduation - how many graduations do you know where anybody but students and dry (yawn) board of education members speak? Also refer to paragraph 5 of this post. Trust me, I'd remember it.

Back to faulty memories, my two sisters who have absolutely no long or short term memory, picked my parents up from the airport last night. My parents were returning from a Hawaii trip. Jene reminisced about the first time she went to Hawaii with my parents, my sister Joey, and myself.

Nice memory but she had just written out my brother. According to her, he wasn't there. My dad concurred but my mom disagreed. Call Nancy. She remembers everything.

I admit that my good memory is a little bit on the freakish side but now I see opportunity. Selective memory can be a good thing.

Tonight my oldest daughter had a performance at the school which, incidentally, I sat by another person who is from my past. He remembers that his mother sewed my wedding dress. {Buzzer goes off} Wrong again. At least he was close with this one. She was hired by the bride to make bridesmaid dresses in at least four weddings where I was a bridesmaid. Remember 27 dresses? Based on my life except that I got rid of all the dresses with the big bow on the butt immediately.

After the concert my parents took my teenager and I out to Kneaders. As we sat talking, my mother knocked over her cup of water in my direction. Ice skittered across the table in my direction. Fortunately, the water was gone.

"What are you thinking about right now?" I challenged my mother.

"Pizza Hut!" she replied. She does not suffer from the memory maladies as some of the others in my family.

"What was that?" my dad asked.

Picture proverbial lightbulb above Nancy's head. "Do you remember taking us out to Pizza Hut when Joey was being snotty and you sent her to the car for time out? She got up in a huff and accidentally spilled your full glass of icy root beer into your lap!"

Dad good naturedly remembered that in detail. We laughed about it then dropped it.

I just rewrote history. Joey is not the daughter who did it.