Memories are Meant to Be Shared, Right?

A drive through downtown brought to mind my recent Segway tour of Franklin.

“We rode the Segways down this street,” I said to George, pointing to a cross street while we sat at the stoplight.

“I know,” he said, without missing a beat. “I was with you.”

“Oh…that’s right!” I said, looking at him as reality dawned. “What an idiot I am!”

“Those Hutchisons will tell a story—whether you already know it or not,” George said, referring to my dad, a Hutchison who had a penchant for telling the same stories over and over and over again. It often made us wonder if his dementia had set in much earlier than diagnosed.

“Sounds like early onset…,” George began. I started to protest when he added:

“I’m just pleased I remembered I was with you.”