As a mental health professional, I use the term "poor historian" to describe the reality orientation of some of my consumers. Today, I'd like to define the term by examples from my personal life:
1. My failure to update my blog on a regular basis makes me a poor historian - a whole year of wedded bliss, moments of angst, pure joy, and everything in between has gone unreported. I always resolve to do better, to get in the habit of journaling, recording all the really good stuff so I can read about it in case my CRS disorder progresses.
2. About 2 years ago, Bob and I took Darian and Sierra out to one of our favorite local restaurants for breakfast. Darian and Sierra did not appreciate the place as much as we do, and didn't eat much. Bob jokingly called them "limbless lint-eating midgets". Both kids, ages 7 and 11 at the time, started bawling. Bob explained that when he was a kid, he and his siblings had no limbs, and they had nothing to eat but lint. He described the process of rolling home from school, which was lots of fun, and the more difficult process of rolling to school, which was uphill. This explanation did nothing to alleviate the hurt feelings of two oversensitive children.
Last night, Sierra showed Bob, who is now affectionately called "Grampy B", the recorder she is learning to play. Grampy B took one look at it, and said, " that looks like something we had when I was a kid, but it wasn't as fancy. I think it was made of rocks."
Sierra, with plenty of sass, replied, "Is that when you were limbless and ate lint?"
I love poor historians!
