The miraculous power of selective memory.

Memory often has a miraculous power: that of being selective. Sometimes it reveals things to us, sometimes it hides them from us.

A few months ago, I was speaking to an American man of similar age to myself. He had journeyed across the world to Singapore from Chicago, for the love of a woman and was now father to her child. His son was the same age as my eldest, so, in a way, I felt an echo of my own tale, in his.

"Will you ever return to the US?" I asked him, one day.

"Oh yes. Sure!", his lips everted strongly and there was a certain determination in his features.

"In fact, I think I made a mistake in staying here.", he went on, his lips pursing as his tongue fell silent, his brow furrowing.

"What about the gun problem, though? You don't have that here.", I said, my eyes sweeping the room to indicate Singapore as a whole.

"Guns?", he snorted, "Oh I have never had any trouble with guns, in the US." He seemed defensive, a certain pride in America rushed to fill his gestures and puff out his frame. I had clearly said something a little unacceptable. He turned to speak to another, present in the room and didn't look back at me, as he did so.

I watched and listened, quietly, not satisfied with his answer, for I had read the statistics on gun violence in the US and wasn't convinced that someone could reach middle age, in Chicago and not encounter a problem or two with guns.

The other guy present was also an American. For reasons known only to himself, but perhaps because he, too, was dissatisfied with his friend's answer, he swung the conversation back to violence in America.

The Chicago resident's answer was most revealing. "I have had guns pulled on me, twice.", he revealed to his fellow American.

I said nothing. I didn't point out the inconsistency between his defensive denial to me, that he had ever had any gun problems in America - and his admission to his fellow American that he had twice had guns pointed at him. Apparently, they had pointed them at his head. But, heh, this qualifies, when speaking to me, as "Never had any trouble with guns".

I marvelled at his essential inconsistency. He had contradicted himself within the space of ten minutes on an issue on which no-one could ever forget: that of being held up at gunpoint. To the non-American, he had never had any trouble, to the American, he had been held up twice, at gunpoint. I noted that, to me, he had defended his nation - but to his fellow American he had, perhaps, told the truth - or remembered the truth. I wonder, now, which it was: was his memory being selective, to me, when he defended his country - did he genuinely not remember the hold ups? Or was he lying to me, to defend his country? Did he suddenly remember the incidents when talking to his fellow American, perhaps because he had no need to defend the reputation of his country against a fellow citizen, for both would know the true deal?

I shall never know. However, I shall also not forget the lesson of apparently selective memory he taught me. His life was one thing to one person, one thing to another. His nation was one thing to one person, one thing to another. With such a one, I think one would have to observe him in many different situations to have a chance in getting at the truth of things. Then again, which tale would be the truth? He would be selective to each listener, depending on whom that listener was.

I am glad I said nothing, for that allowed me to continue to observe him, whenever I encountered him. Had I pointed out the contradiction, no doubt he would have altered his manner in front of me. Perhaps, in fact, he would have become actively hostile had I pointed out his own self-contradiction. Often, it is better just to listen, and not to speak one's mind: more is learnt that way and fewer friends are lost. Nevertheless it is funny what might be observed if you simply allow people to be themselves in company for a while. Sometimes, you even learn the truth.

(If you would like to learn more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged eight years and seven months, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, five years exactly, and Tiarnan, twenty-eight months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, the Irish, the Malays, Singapore, College, University, Chemistry, Science, genetics, left-handedness, precocity, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, wunderkind, wonderkind, genio, гений ребенок prodigy, genie, μεγαλοφυία θαύμα παιδιών, bambino, kind.

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