I read a lot of murder mysteries. Often, one of the characters doesn’t want to be recognized and uses a disguise. It may be as small a change as wearing sunglasses. Sometimes, women dye their hair a different color or men add a false beard. A thin figure may be obscured with a little padding.
In real life, we do the same thing, but it isn’t intentional. As time passes, people change in looks. Many of us gain a little weight; the ladies who colored their first gray hairs have gone white or the gentlemen have copied the latest fashion and grown some type of facial hair. Outdoors, sunglasses may be worn.
One day I was enjoying a cup of coffee and a roll in a small Rockford shop. I glanced up as two, middle-aged men dressed in suits and ties entered. One of them told the fellow behind the counter, “I’m Detective Oswald. I understand you had a break-in last night.”
I recognized the name as one of our son’s high school classmates. I took a second look at the speaker who had thinning hair and the beginning of a pot-belly.
Attending a funeral or a school reunion, I have a mental list of the people who might be there. This gives me an edge in figuring out who a person is. For some strange reason, when I meet those I haven’t seen for a while, I expect them to look the same as the last time I saw them.
One thing that doesn’t change much is the way we talk. While watching an old movie on TV, the voice of a performer catches my attention and I recognize a young Jimmy Stewart or Katherine Hepburn who I’ve only known as an older actor or actress.
One of my pet peeve’s is someone who comes up to me and says, “I bet you don’t remember me.” I’m tempted to agree, “No, I don’t,” and go on my way but my social upbringing steps in and I don’t. It embarrasses me to admit that the person doesn’t ring a bell with me.
How do you feel when you don’t recognize a person you knew in the past?