I literally hear this phrase every single day from one of my boys: “Oh, sorry Dad. I forgot.”

I know all kids forget, but I’ve been told by their teachers that the Kaempfer boys have a hyper-developed forgetful streak. It’s so legendary that one of Johnny’s teachers actually complimented me via e-mail one time when Johnny remembered something.

And Johnny’s doing better than Tommy did at the same age.

Where are the books you need to do your homework? “I forgot.”
Why didn’t the teacher get the permission slip back? “I forgot.”
Why didn’t you turn in your homework? “I forgot.”

We’ve tried everything to help them remember. We encouraged them write things down, hoping that would reinforce their memories. They would either forget to write it, or forget where they wrote it, or forget to refer to it.

We attached Post It notes to their backpacks and books with simple messages like: “VIOLA” (Johnny forgets it at school every week) or “HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT” or “PERMISSION SLIP” or “JACKET” or “LUNCH BOX.” That worked once or twice, but never consistently.

The other day it got to the point that I couldn’t take it anymore. When Tommy forgot his homework assignment AGAIN, I had to leave the room before I said something I would regret. My mom happened to be there at the time, and let’s just say, I didn’t find her response to be too helpful. She was doing all she could to stop herself from laughing out loud.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“This isn’t funny,” I pointed out. “This has become a serious problem.”

“No kidding,” she said.

She was biting her lip to avoid laughing right in my face.

I didn’t get the joke until later that night. I went to a concert with a few buddies of mine. We all met at a restaurant near the venue so that we could have dinner together before the show. After dinner, my buddy asked, “Do you want your concert ticket now or should I give it to you at the theater?”

“Just give it to me there,” I said jokingly. “I don’t want to lose it.”

The other three guys got in their cars and drove to the show (a few minutes away). I was parked on a different level, so I told them I would meet them there.

I looked on level 3–I was pretty sure I had parked there. No car. Hmmm, maybe it’s on level 4. Nope. Level 5? No. Level 6? No. I must have just missed it on level 3. I went back to level 3 and started over. I pressed the little remote key button hoping to hear the horn. Nothing. Same thing on levels 4, 5, and 6.

Oh no. I looked at my watch. Nearly twenty minutes had elapsed and I still hadn’t found my car.

My cellphone rang. It was my friend.

“Where are you? The concert starts in five minutes.”

“Um…I can’t find my car.”

“Are you serious?”

“Maybe it was towed,” I suggested.

“Out of a parking garage?” he said. “They never tow cars out of free parking lots. Why would they do that?”

“Good point.”

“Well hurry up, nimrod. I’m standing out in front of the theater with your ticket.”

I took a deep breath and did what I always tell my kids to do when they can’t find things: Retrace your steps. So I took the elevator back to the ground floor and walked through the entrance of the parking garage as if I was in my car, and walked up the ramp I had driven up earlier, hoping it would spark my memory.

Sure enough. There it was. I called my friend to tell him I was on my way.

“Where was your car?” he asked.

“It’s not important,” I said, not willing to fully admit how stupid I really was.

“C’mon,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “You owe me this. I’m missing the beginning of the show right now. Where was it?”

“About ten spaces away from where you were parked on level 2,” I admitted.

He laughed out loud. “How could that happen?”

“I forgot,” I said.

As soon as I heard myself saying the words, I realized that I had said those same words at least a thousand times before. And I also realized why my mom was laughing so hard about Tommy’s forgetfulness.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 11th, 2009 at 10:52 am and is filed under parent. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.