ALAN G.

There is a good reason why I remember Alan G. as the guy who put his jock on backwards. 

It was the first day of 7th grade. My classmates and I were at the junior high now - a building much bigger and more intimidating than any of the grade schools we had previously attended. And one of the scariest things in my anxious 13 year old brain was gym class.

Unlike grade school, the junior high had a locker room. And for 7th grade gym class all the students had to physically change into gym clothes at the beginning of the period. Worse yet, all the boys were required to wear a jockstrap; it was on the school supply list.

That first day of school, my brand new jockstrap was still in the box, in my gym bag. Phys Ed occupied an afternoon slot on my schedule, after lunch, and I was dreading it all morning.

So it didn't help that at the lunch table the big conversation was what happened in the locker room during an earlier gym class.

"Did you hear what Alan G. did this morning in the locker room?"

"What did he do?"

"The guy put his jock on backwards! Can you believe it?"

There was universal disbelief and laughter around the table. I chuckled a bit on the outside, but on the inside, my mind was racing: Did I know how to put on a jockstrap? Isn't it obvious - like underwear? But it's NOT underwear. 

Mom had bought the thing but I had avoided even looking at the box it was in, it was so embarrassing to think about.

A new fear gripped me in that moment: Would I become "Alan G. the Second"? Would everyone be laughing about ME at tomorrow's lunch?

It put a huge knot in my stomach. (I spent most of my early schooling with a variety of knots in my stomach.)

You can imagine my relief a couple of periods later when I sat on that bench in the locker room, and slowly pulled the jockstrap from its box. 

Praise God, it was totally obvious! 

(Ha, ha. That Alan G. - what an idiot!)

The fact that this is THE clearest memory I have from my entire 7th grade school year makes me wonder about this aspect of our memories: Why are traumatic or embarrassing moments etched into our memories so much deeper than all the happy moments?

One of my earnest hopes for Heaven is that our memories will be perfectly restored. There are so very many profoundly happy moments I cannot now recall - even within the last twenty years when my kids were small. I want to relive those happy moments, every single one.

And I'm not at all worried that a perfect memory in Heaven would also bring all the sad, traumatic or fearful memories to life again too. I am pretty sure that in the joy of eternity, my worst memories will seem as ultimately insignificant as my fears over 7th grade gym class.