Murder, She Rote

My sixteen-year-old daughter has amazing rote memory skills. Seriously, she can remember shit that happened years ago - down to the last detail - including the clothes the people involved were wearing (or weren’t). You know, we all have crap in our lives that we would LOVE to forget ever happened. Well, unfortunately I don’t have that luxury (unless it happened before 1994) since my own little Rain Man (girl) (“10 minutes ‘til Wapner”) is always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. For instance, she will bring up shit that happened on August 8, 1996 at 2:34 PM (she probably knows the seconds, too). God forbid, I’m telling a story to someone (very rarely do I do that) and I get one little detail wrong, she will pop up out the woodwork and set me straight. How in the hell am I supposed to be a good parent with that crap going on?

As parents, we all hope that our kids will overlook and forget our shortcomings and times when we show less than Cleaver-like parenting skills. We want them to adoringly look up to us with the admiration and respect that we deserve (well, some of us). Seriously, I’m just waiting for the day she’ll forget the time I left her on Santa’s lap by herself (screaming her head off BTW) at the mall while I ran down to The Gap to check out the sales rack (hey, it was 90% off- don’t judge). Or, she also LOVES to dredge up the time I “forgot” her at JC Penney when she was 4 years old (she was being a little brat and I got tired of looking for her in all of those damn clothes racks). She needs to get over it and stop playing the victim already. For real, I had way worse stuff happen to me and I turned out extraordinary!

Don’t get me wrong, she is great to have around (when she’s not reminding me of every little, friggin’ detail of the police chase through Little Italy back in ’97 (complete misunderstanding – another story – be patient) most of the time and I really don’t know what I’d do without her. I had her when I was so young, she practically raised me. Plus, I never have to remember anyone’s birthday, which is a complete load off of my mind. I need to keep my mind free for all the useless information that has gathered and nested up there all these years (I’m pretty sure the inside of my brain looks worse than a house on Hoarders on a good day). Whenever I’m at the store with her, I just ask her who has a birthday coming up so I can get the cards and/or gifts (if you tell her once when your birthday is, she’ll remember it until the day she dies, seriously). That being said, she would make the ideal murder witness (which I hope never happens, but if it ever does, she’ll earn the reward money in a heartbeat). Trust me, she would remember how many cavities the perp had (or teeth), how many buttons were on his shirt, and what brand of underwear he was wearing. Just don’t ask her to clean her room because she “forgets” to do that ALL the time…