Twice in the last week, I’ve been asked about former students without the former student being present.  As a seasoned professional, these situations are not awkward.

The first time, I was at a game night with a bunch of guys of recent acquaintance.  Art mentioned that  his nephew had been in my class.  The name rang no bells in my head.  While Art was saying that his nephew had enjoyed my class, recollection was dawning.  I recall the name and may recall the kid.  

This is where being a professional comes in.  I made no effort to describe the student pictured in my mind, and just said, yeah, I think so, but I’d have to see a photo.  Implying that I’m good with faces, not so good with names.

The second time, I was at a garage sale on my street.  A woman of my vintage said that I looked familiar.  I gave her a brief rundown, and she said, “That’s it.  My daughter had you at Normandy.”

The daughter is now 42 years old, but I recalled her immediately.  She had striking blue eyes like her mum, had a calm and imperturbable manner and was taking three science classes at the same time.  

Mom was amazed at my impression of a wizened old teacher who fondly remembers every one of his former students.  As we talked, she went on to mention a few other students, who I again recalled with clarity and a few anecdotes.  Why did this go so well?

The daughter and friends were all high-flyers.  Well-mannered, handsome, smart, congenial and motivated.  That’s part of it.  The other part is that I’d only been teaching for a few years, so had only taught a few hundred students.  By the time I’d had the previously mentioned nephew, I’d had four or five times more students.  Nearly a couple of thousand. 

Seniors often ask if I will miss them after they graduate.  This is going to sound bad.  I tell them, “Honestly, by the 4th of July, I won’t even remember Mrs. Yappel’s name, and she’s right next door.  I will miss you in the Fall, when the new students come in.  They will be all mopey, boring and dumb, like you guys were when you came in.  That’s when I will miss you terribly.”

Over the summer, I don’t have any reason to remember them, so those memory cells all go dormant.  When I retired, I thought those memory cells were dying off.  Talking to that mom, we talked about a few staff members that I hadn’t seen or thought about in 20 years.  Most of it came back. 

Memory seems to work like that when we get old.  My mother, at 90 years old, recalled many stories from her childhood, but wasn’t great on more current events.  Perhaps when we are young, events seem more intense and important.  As we get older, nothing is as shocking, so not worth committing to memory.