For part of our last vacation, my younger brother joined us. The Kid had not seen him for two years, I think, and she didn’t really remember him.
He shouldn’t take it personally. She doesn’t remember 2 out of 3 of her preschool teachers either. Where we ate chocolate ice cream three states away, two years ago, yes. Teachers she saw every day, no.
Once we RE-introduced them, she was suspicious at first. He’s a single guy in his 30′s and has spent about as much time playing with little kids as I have appearing as a guest judge on Top Chef. That being, none, unfortunately for Top Chef.
After a day or two, though, she started in with the usual torture, pestering him while riding in the backseat together, etc. But she still couldn’t remember his name.
My uncle! she kept saying. My uncle is going to sit in the back with me. My uncle is ignoring me, Mom. My uncle…..
Once back home, she finally said, “what was my uncle’s name again?”
You’d think she’s 82 and at any moment, will start remembering the introduction of that strange, new contraption, the automobile.
“Eric, his name is Eric,” I said slowly and clearly. As if we have a language barrier, mine being English and hers being…?
“Uncle Eric? Like ‘carrot’?”
“Yes, sweetie, like Uncle Carrot.”
Bet she’ll remember his name now.
There’s my uncle! Where’s the dip?
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