Memory is a funny thing. Why do our childhood memories remain with us so clearly? Why is that one can be at a complete loss in remembering the particulars of a recent event but some innocuous sighting can send one’s mind whirling back decades to a long ago world?

I happened to catch a glimpse of a little girl wearing a red hair ribbon on the street the other day and in an instant, I was transported to my childhood home. So vivid was my memory, I could hear hairbrush bristles slipping through my hair and could feel the tightness on my scalp as the elastic band snapped into place around my ponytail. I could sense my mother standing behind me, her perfume mingling with her morning cup of coffee as she tied up my hair. I could see my blue and green book bag hanging on a hook by the front door, waiting to be snatched and dragged up the school bus steps. This entire scene in all its clarity played itself out in mere seconds. In the time it took for me to walk past that little girl with a red ribbon tied around her ponytail, I had relived that long ago morning with such clarity, it was as if it had happened minutes ago. But because memory is such a funny thing, it faded away just as quickly as it had arrived.