More memories than most

"You remember more of your childhood than most people," he said.

"Yeah, mom," I heard from the backseat, our son agreeing with his Dad before my pursed lips could debate the point. (He's reached the age where agreeing 50/50 with Mom or Dad is cool.)

"Really?" I thought. That seemed like an odd observation. Huh. 

Is it because I kept a diary growing up? Though flipping through my old diaries a couple years ago, it wasn't like eighth grade me was writing anything more significant than how much I hated PE, popular girls and the boys I had crushes on, who invevitably liked the preceding two things I listed as hating. 

Maybe...

•  The diary-writing helped get those useless thoughts out of my head so I could hold onto what mattered?
• I like history?
• I have a good memory?
• I have less to remember - with only 18 years with Mom and just about 18 months more with Dad? Or I felt an impetus to really study those impressions before they faded entirely?
• I hold onto things: like grudges, memories and compliments? Photos and jewelry and mementos? But not the solid things like phone numbers, passwords or SAT scores? Who cares about what your SAT score was anyway, except any classmate who edged you out by just 10 -50 points. The National Honor Society... which I was inducted into in high school without even knowing what it was. I missed that night, along with others, just because I didn't know about it. (I just hesitate in typing this to blame mom, or dad.) But I wasn't collecting the mail ... or maybe I was and I was too embarrassed? No, I remember because the next day people asked me, "Where were you??! You won like EVERY AWARD." I hadn't known about the night, or the awards. You don't get a letter on a varsity jacket in the 1990s for winning the Ninth Grade Citizenship Award, Spanish Award and on and on. But the big letters that signified you'd made a varsity sport? I could see that goal ahead of me.