RECOGNITION

A woman greeted me and followed it with, “You don’t remember me, do you?” That phrase saved my ego. I hated to admit I didn’t know someone who called me by name, but my blank look gave me away. Her question provided enough of her speech to jog my memory and I replied, “Of course I do,” and said her name.

From watching old movies on TV, I’d noticed I may not recognize a young actor I’ve only known as middle-aged, but I can’t miss the voice.

As the years roll by, people change on the surface. The lean, high school basketball star develops a paunch and loses his hair. The cheerleader with the cute figure turns matronly and dyes her tresses a different color. But we recollect one another in several different ways.

I saw a gray-haired man in the grocery store several times and he seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He didn’t acknowledge me so, apparently, I didn’t ring any bells with him. Finally, I asked the woman who stood behind the checkout counter, “Do you know the name of that fellow who just left?”

“You must remember him–that’s Phil.”

When I heard his name, I knew what had alerted me–his stance. It’d been a long time since he and I attended junior high school and learned to dance together, but he still stood the same way.

It reminded me of the night my mother and I were attending a relative’s visitation in the city. We were strolling up the sidewalk from one direction and a couple was advancing from the other. As the four of us reached the door of the funeral home, Mom’s cousin, Harold, greeted her with, “I thought that was the Visger walk coming toward me.”

Where we meet a person also plays a part in recognition. We know who we can expect to see at our high school reunion. Our surroundings give no clue to identity if someone says, “Hi,” in an area Walmart.

Does it embarrass you if you don’t remember someone who greets you?