A case of middle-aged frontal lobe failure
Good news, everyone: I don’t have dementia. I’m just suffering
from middle-aged memory meltdown.
You get to be my age, 40-something or other, and you do begin to
wonder about the state of your brain. I had my doubts the other
night when I began wracking my brain over a seemingly minor
point.
My son, Ross, has a friend named Alex, whom he met through the
high school band. I’ve known Alex for four years or so. I know Alex
and his family just about as well as I do my own.
A case of middle-aged frontal lobe failure
Good news, everyone: I don’t have dementia. I’m just suffering from middle-aged memory meltdown.
You get to be my age, 40-something or other, and you do begin to wonder about the state of your brain. I had my doubts the other night when I began wracking my brain over a seemingly minor point.
My son, Ross, has a friend named Alex, whom he met through the high school band. I’ve known Alex for four years or so. I know Alex and his family just about as well as I do my own.
I’ve also been present at about 50-billion band events in the past four years, and seen both Alex and Ross play their instruments as many times.
Well, I was wracking my brain the other night; trying to remember what instrument Alex plays.
Was it the trumpet? No. Saxophone? No. Clarinet? No.
I ran through the mental list and was stumped.
Granted, a small, insignificant point, but I was aghast at the fact that I could not remember. And to forget such a thing seemed really, really odd.
What was wrong with my mind? I think former Vice President Dan Quayle summed it up best.
Once upon a time, Quayle famously (or infamously) opined: “What a waste it is to lose one’s mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is.”
Maybe he could relate.
At any rate, after about an hour of intense pondering, it finally came to me what instrument Alex played.
Eureka! Of course!
Alex plays the trombone.
Then I felt really, really stupid.
Not because it took me so long to remember, although that was a factor. No, I felt especially foolish because my other son, Hunter, plays the trombone. Alex was his section leader. With trombone evidence all around, why would I not remember?
Then I read up on memory and found some justification for being stupid. I can simply blame it on my age.
I am not really losing my mind, but it is slipping just a tad. And thank goodness, I’m not the only one who has this problem.
In fact, it’s enough of an issue that it has a name (middle-aged memory loss) and it made the Oprah Web site.
Maybe Oprah has the same problem.
The Web site had soothing words on the matter.
“In the past decade, cognitive neuroscientists have learned that much of what we blame on fading memory in midlife can be more accurately attributed to failing attention. Physiological changes in the brain’s frontal lobes make it harder to maintain attention in the face of distractions.”
So it’s not my fault, after all. It’s those darn frontal lobes falling down on the job.
And Lord knows I have enough distractions around for a couple of lifetimes.
Oh, I’ve forgotten plenty of other things, too. Trombone players are the least of them.
I’ve forgotten appointments. Forgotten to give lunch money to my kids. Forgotten how to pop the hood on my car. Forgotten to water the tomato plants. Forgotten my neighbor’s name.
Nothing very dramatic. Just enough to make me feel middle-aged stupid.
And as my dad is fond of telling me, “Don’t worry. It’ll get worse.”
