I Was Wondering

I Don’t Remember My 12th Birthday

So yesterday as I was pondering over responding to the Daily Prompt, I had this extremely horrifying realization. Terribly horrifying.

I don’t remember my 12th birthday. Seriously, though. In fact, that is one of my only birthdays that I don’t remember. I remember my 11th and 13th birthdays. I remember my best friend’s 12th birthday that was three days after mine. But I do not remember my 12th birthday. For some reason, this really bothered me for a moment. (I mean, not really, but a little bit.) And it got me thinking about the things that we do remember and why we remember them.

What is it that actually defines what we remember, that defines what is important enough to take up space in our brains? I’m pretty sure that we all have those memories that we wish with all our soul we could wipe away, but then there are those other things that we don’t remember and wish we did.

In doing some historical research lately, I came across the idea proposed by somebody that as people, we decide what is and is not significant about the past. I really like this idea and completely agree with it. We have to decide what is significant and why it is important to us, I suppose, for it to have any place in our lives. Just because something is terrible and we’d rather not remember it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t value in our memory cache.

Anyway, I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to get at here. But there’s food for though (I think?….) and here’s a fox:



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