What I Remember Versus What Happened

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Quick side note: Never ask me who They are. If I’m talking about something Thomas Jefferson or Albert Einstein or the Food & Drug Administration said, I’ll mention them by name. When I just use the general They, it’s because I obviously don’t know who said it or am too lazy to figure it out.

So, hindsight is twenty-twenty. That’s what They say. Once a moment or a time period has passed, you can always look back and see your mistakes. Tings are clearer. You see which decisions were good and which were bad.

In my case, my hindsight seems to be twenty-twenty, but with corrective lenses.

What I mean by that is that I tend to remember the past and the decisions I made as being better than they actually were. If I’m pleased with the way something turned out, I tend to think to myself, “I sure am glad I decided on this,” when, in fact, I was opposed to the idea in question at the start. If I bowled regularly and kept score on my own (a mathmatical impossibility, but humor me), I would probably remember every frame as a strike by the time I returned to my seat.

I said to my wife one day, “Getting the minivan turned out to be one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. It makes traveling with the boys so convenient.” She then reminded me that I insisted we should purchase a smaller SUV and that she was the one who said we should just go with a minivan.

I protested her challenge at first. Maybe I was shocked that she dared to challenge the man of the house. Maybe the chauvinist in me assumed the husband makes all vehicle related decisions. At the time, I really believed that I had been the one with the bright, shining minivan idea. I was even proud of myself for sacrificing testosterone points for the best interests of the family.

When my wife then reminded me exactly which car I had been so interested in, the car that I had done Consumer Reports research on, the car that I was constantly printing out pictures of in different color so that she could see which one she liked best as if its purchase was already a foregone conclusion, is when I finally had to concede. I had opposed the minivan. It wasn’t until she had worn me down that I helped research which minivan was the best. I was forced to admit that she the pioneer behind the minivan investment.

Another side note: If I think a specific purchase was a good idea, you’ll know because I’ll start calling it an investment. It makes spending money on something sound so much more responsible. Like the twelve-inch Marvel Legends Icons Series masked Captain America figure I bought. It’s already selling for twice what I bought it for on eBay. Thus, it is not an immature impulse buy, it is an investment.

I had similar selective memory incidents over our new TV stand and the iPhone. I bragged to several people about how I decided it was time to have a phone that would be more useful. I spoke of how happy I was with my investment and how productive I could be while waiting in line now, no doubt to make some other sound investment. But, one day, I gave myself this credit in front of my wife.

“You wanted to get an internet phone, but a cheaper one. I said we should just go all out and get the iPhone.”

She was right. I distinctly remembered that I wanted to get an internet capable phone with an annoyingly smaller screen and buttons on it that would have frustrated me and my gigantic thumbs while trying to type anything.

“Oh, yeah,” was all I could say.

There’s no graceful way to admit that you just made yourself sound more enlightened and insightful fraudulently. Especially to the person whose idea you just took credit for. “You know all that stuff I was just saying I was so proud of myself for? I meant I was proud of her. See, sweetie? See how much credit I give you?”

The other problem is that when you take credit for things that weren’t your idea, you lose credibility. Then nobody believes you when something actually was your idea. For instance, the DVR. I agreed to the free three month trial despite vehement protests from my wife. She thought the whole thing was useless and unnecessary. After having it for about a week, she was sold. You’re welcome, honey.

I also take full credit for the refrigerator in the garage, my use of my grandfather’s old wheelchair while in a cast, and the DS’s for the boys. All of these were great ideas and definitely mine.

While I’m pointing out how awesome I am, allow me to indulge in a bad idea my wife once had that I vetoed.

Last side note: Saying I veto something sounds much more diplomatic and less stubborn than saying I refused to cooperate. Saying I put my foot down sounds bad, too. That’s why I veto.

When we set up the trampoline in the yard, we had a dilemma of how the boys would climb onto in as it was a bit high off the ground for them. I had a small trampoline that I was using for physical therapy inside. My wife suggested that we place it outside nest to the larger one. The boys could then run up to it and bounce off NBA-mascot-performing-acrobatic-slam-dunks-between-quarters-style and onto the bigger trampoline. I pictured children (ours and others that came to visit) landing in the neighbor’s yard, or ending up on the roof of the garage like they were just on an episode of Jackass. This was one of the worst ideas she had ever had in my opinion. I vetoed.

But you know what? She’s had a lot of great ideas. More than me, in fact. And I am not just saying this so that she won’t point out all the insanely stupid ideas I’ve had over the years, like the raised clubhouse I was going to build by myself that the boys could access by climbing out of their second story bedroom window.

In fact, can you just forget you read this? Talk about all time bad ideas.