I think I have many gifts. Good memory is not one of them.
Photographic is not the word I would use. Sketchy at best. Aged about 8 or 9
(if memory serves me right) I woefully humiliated myself in a failed attempt to
publicly recite a four-line poem at school (can’t even remember which poem),
despite what I felt had been a long and painstaking effort to commit to memory.
The “winged words” just flew. The prompts (from my equally embarrassed teacher)
failed to prompt. I drew a complete agonising blank. The teacher
happened to have been my father. Now, he was truly blessed with
photographic memory, as is my daughter. Genetics can be funny or cruel this
way.
