Do you remember me? I remember you. At least I think I do.

That’s a common problem.

We were at Saul’s Restaurant again.

We had gone to the theater to see Robert Reich’s film, “The Last Class.”

Heather, his former student who now converses with him on his weekly Saturday broadcast Coffee Klatch and seems to be a career enhancer manager, put the film together and is touring it around the country, just when we need it.

We heard about it, wanted to see it, drove over, parked early enough, it was sold out.

We asked about tomorrow.

They said, “It’s booked through Wednesday. Maybe longer.”

So we drove over to Saul’s.

I asked the waiter, “Is Robert Reich here?”

“You missed him by about four hours. He’s here all the time, a lot.”

I knew that already. I said, “We saw his latest Coffee Klatch just yesterday, filmed here at this very booth. There were waiters in the background going back and forth serving customers. We might have seen you.”

“Could be,” he said.

I’m telescoping our conversations because he didn’t have time to drop everything and talk to us/me at length.

He took our initial order, drinks, water for me, although Kristina tried to get me to order an Arnold Palmer. “They’re very good here, as you know. You know you want one.”

“I’m saving money for our vacation,” I said, and stuck with water.

I ordered an appetizer of matzo ball soup. I wanted to try it here. There was a big neon sign on the wall with a giant matzo ball in a big bowl. I made the lame joke, “Looks too big to eat.”

Kristina groaned, muttered, “Dad joke.”

I was expecting a bowl with a very big ball like in the pictures I’ve seen.

It came with two, count ‘em, two, downsized balls that were still pretty big.

I said, “Two balls are big enough to fill me up.”

People turned their heads to look at me closely.

I asked, “What is the matzo ball made of?”

The waiter said, “Matzo.”

I said, “What’s matzo made of?”

A quick internet check said “rough sifted wheat flour.”

I complimented the waiter. “All you Saul’s people are mentally alert.”

He said, “They hire carefully.”

He re-filled my water glass.

I said, “You read my mind.”

He said, “Again.”

I tried philosophical speculation. “I wonder,” I began thoughtfully. “When we come back, as we will, I’ll remember you, because you stand out. There are lots of people in the restaurant and you have to serve them all, but you’re the one who comes to our table and I’ll remember you. I’ll probably get lost in the crowd and you probably won’t remember me.”

He said, “I’ll remember you.”

I said, “You say that now… I can just imagine the researcher who tries a memory experiment and tips the waiter a hundred dollars. The waiter says, “I’ll remember YOU,” but the man comes back the next day…”

Our waiter said, “And the waiter didn’t remember him.”

I said, “You just read my mind again.”

Our waiter said, “I’ll remember you, even for as long as until next week.”

When I think I’m being clever, I keep running into people who are way ahead of me. But that doesn’t stop me.

Kristina said, “Don’t make him think you’re going to give him a hundred dollar tip. He’ll be disappointed.” She looks out for me.

And my mind did one of its quick segues.

My former students from many years ago are re-discovering me and communicating. “I remember when you…”

It’s easier for them. They were in a class of thirty for me to look at, but there was only one of me for them to look at. I was imprinted singularly.

In high school, I faced 150 – 200 students every day, and there was still only one of me for them to remember.

And, apparently, I was memorable.

And, thanks to age and covid, that easy excuse, I don’t remember even myself very well from back then. That, and the fact that I didn’t look in the mirror much and was unselfaware.

I look at pictures and say, “No, really? That’s me?”

The pictures of me that are brutally honest when I wasn’t at my best, I put further back in the box.

So I think of memory and my life that is slipping away. Happens to all of us. We hold on to ourselves.

So I keep shuffling photographs, and writing down as fast as I can whatever I can remember. I want my life to mean something.

And I didn’t even give the waiter my card which references my blog.

Kristina said, “Dad, you’re being hyper.”

“Did I overdo it?”

Kristina and Chaz said in unison, “Yes!”

I said, “Do you think the waiter will remember me?”

Chaz said, “He can’t not.”