Momnesia

Amnesia is Only Slightly Less Entertaining Than Momnesia

AUGUSTA, GA. - Scott's great-grandfather, Paw Paw, had dementia - it wasn't Alzheimer's - that caused him to live somewhere between the past and the present. Scott, not yet in his teens, would hang out with him on the front porch of the old house in Lincolnton. They'd be sitting in rockers and Paw Paw very suddenly would stop rocking and strike up a conversation with someone who wasn't there.

"Hi, how're you?" he'd call, as though someone neighborly was passing by the house.

"Oh, fine fine fine," he nod in response to their nonexistent question. "Weather's good, can't complain."

"Well, it's nice to see you," he call and wave as, in his mind, they walked on.

Then he'd lean over to Scott, then 10 years old, and say something like, "She's f-ing Fred."

His great-grandmother Lillian would stick her head out on the porch and hiss, "Stifle it, Fletcher!" And he'd quiet down... for a while.

But Fletcher had a mind of his own - even as cloudy as it had become.

"Shit Fire! Goddammit Goddammit Goddammit!"

"What's the matter, Paw Paw?" Scott asked, his pre-teen feet swinging just out of reach from the porch floorboards.

"I f-ing lost a nickel!"

"A nickel!" Scott laughs, as he remembers 25 years later. "I'll never forget that."