The Kindness of Others- A Trip Down Non-memory Lane

By Ken De Laat

I’m admittedly more than a tad forgetful. With an impending membership in the septuagenarian segment of society looming it would not be unreasonable to pass  this  ingrained inattentiveness  off to the erosion of certain skills that accompany aging.

But as I’ve revealed before and am reminded of by any who have significant  history with me, this has been more of a chronic condition. Apparently a lifetime of working crossword puzzles hasn’t honed this segment of my frontal lobe to any great extent whatsoever and despite a good grasp on trivia or long past events the ability to leave the house once (keys, wallet, phone, masks, etc.) continues to elude me.

Over the years it has been necessary to rely on the kindness of others to help phones, credit cards, hats and the occasional wallet find their way back to me. Thus after taking copious (and barely legible to others) notes while covering the Fremont Basketball game Friday I got home and discovered the annoying sound coming from my phone on the way back to Newaygo was an incoming text from Doug (Voice of the Packers) Harmon who I sat next to at the scorers table. 
“You left your notepad”

Ok. Well, I could take a stab at going back but it was late, I was tired and I figured I could make an attempt in the morning despite being previously committed to assist my LSC Lil with some planned projects around the house. Granted it should come as no surprise to her having coped with this aspect of my personality for close to half a century, yet it isn’t likely the most endearing of my attributes and after this past  year of her having me underfoot close to 24/7  it behooves me to make attempts to minimize exposure to these less than desirable traits.

“How was the game?”
‘Good. Home team won both.’
“Aren’t you going to write it up tonight?”
‘Uh, no I’ll just do if first thing tomorrow.’
(After I either see if someone is at the school or maybe try to cobble together something from what has already been described as a less than stellar memory).

Enter Fremont Assistant Principal/Athletic Director David Walls.
I awoke to an (e)mailbox stuffed with individual photos of my notes. 
Each page.
Every scribble, side note, stat, and even the  random non-basketball thoughts that sometimes appear when an idea hits. He took the time to send it all.
My reply?
“Owe you huge”
​
Because of his kind action I was able to put together the stories, join in the pre-planned projects without interruption (or explanation) and generally experience a Saturday morning infinitely less stressful than the one that loomed ahead when I retired for the night. It was as if the episode never occurred.
Then Lil asked, ”Did you pick up those items on the way to the game like we talked about?”
And I departed for the store.

"As you get older three things happen. First is your memory goes, and I can’t remember the other two."-Norman Wisdom