By the time I was four, I had memorized the phone numbers of all my relatives, meaning my phone number and my grandmother's. My aunts and uncles weren't quite grown ups at that point. I had also memorized the phone numbers of three of my mother's best friends. I had in my repertoire the numbers of a couple little girls that lived in the neighborhood. I really liked phone numbers.
I also liked memorizing addresses, and could tell you the addresses of at least 5 different people. I know that I was only four because we moved that year and I learned a new address. It was a rural route address that promptly changed to 709 N 29 E Ave, and changed a few years later to a street named Independence and a new address. Needless to say, this was all taken in stride by the young girl that I was. All those new addresses quickly accumulated in my fertile little brain.
In elementary school, I memorized the phone numbers and addresses of all the boys I had even a slight interest in. Since that made up roughly half the population of the elementary school, I had quite the mental list going on. I'm just joking- it was only half the male population of half the grades. Sheesh. I also knew routes to get to most of their houses from mine. I memorized street names and milage markers. I knew where the closest bar was, and what all the denominations of the churches between my house and the bar were, and I lived in the buckle of the Bible belt.
You must understand that I never memorized these things on purpose. They just sort of fell into my brain. Someone would tell someone else their phone number while I was stalking them walking by and their phone number would be indelibly printed in my brain. I memorized routes to places the same way. I could take you to any place I had been. I can still remember maps, in vivid detail, I read while navigating as a pre-teen. I remembered street signs and the people standing around them.
When I was a Freshman in high school, I developed a new number fetish. This fetish soon overtook my phone number fetish. Like the phone numbers, it wasn't something I was looking for. I was frequently late for school. Due to staying up late at night reading some unknown reason, I frequently awoke with a headache. After sleeping a couple more hours, it would miraculously be gone. Needless to say, I missed the first two hours of school a lot. One day, while I was standing in the office waiting for my late pass, I saw the locker combination the receptionist had written down for the kid standing next to me. I didn't mean to see it. I didn't know the kid. I went to a school that had over a thousand kids. Trying to find this kid's locker was not on my agenda. But, that locker combination was etched in my mind. I can still clearly see that piece of paper and it's secret combination. Suddenly, my mind had something new to toy with- locker combinations.
My brain has always liked to play with numbers. I love math and see a page full of Algebra as a beautiful thing. The logic inherent in working through a long math problem is a beautiful and almost orgasmic experience for me. Memorizing locker combinations, for some odd reason, became my brain's way of keeping busy while walking down the hall.
When I graduated high school, from a much smaller school, I had roughly 1/4 of the graduating class's locker combinations memorized. Granted, that was only 25 people. But you have to understand. I was not memorizing these things on purpose, I would overhear someone telling a friend their locker combination and *bam* there it would be, stuck in my head. I didn't even know where half their lockers were, since I only went to school there two hours a day. I didn't even use my locker on a regular basis, but I could have used theirs if I had desired to. The person that I was then had no use for all those locker combinations. Well, that person did, but was not bold enough to make use of them. If the person that I am now had been around then, those poor kids would have opened their lockers to pranks until they changed their locks. I just was not that mean in high school. Sadly, you cannot change the past.
On a slightly odd note that isn't quite in keeping with the rest of this piece but that I need to share with you, I had the same combination lock from 4th grade through high school. In fact, I think I still have it. It was given to me by a classmate, although I can't remember why, since I had a lock already. At any rate, I have not used that lock for 15 years, but I can still tell you that the combination was 15-22-4. If you're ever at my house, and you see something locked up with an old lock, and you remember this combination, feel free to check it out.
After I got my driver's license, I started memorizing something new. Don't ask me why. I'm sure it had something to do with subconscious paranoia. At any rate, I started memorizing license plates. Every car that was driving around me had their license plate memorized. I will admit here that I had already memorized, by middle school, all the license plate numbers of all my family and friends. So, I suppose this particular oddity did not exactly start at 16. And, to be completely upfront and honest with you, I still do this to a certain extent. I can't help it. It's a disease -- Licensatus Platoli-itus.
I say all this to tell you, I can't remember a darn thing that my kids want me to. I want you to know that it's not because I have a bad memory. It's because my memory is all filled up with the telephone numbers to pizza delivery services in 12 different cities, the locker combinations of 100 different students, the addresses of 50 crushes, the addresses of 14 moves, and the license tags of thousands of random strangers. It's not because I don't love you that I can't remember what your birthdate is, I just need a data dump. Can someone please invent that technology?
