My Old Brain

I remember my old brain on occasion, usually when I’m drifting off to sleep.

It’s always a memory of someone alluding to me being “not so smart.’

My old brain wasn’t less intelligent; it hadn’t been nurtured, given the proper environment to learn, to soak up information and expand. It had no knowledge of the larger world. It didn’t have any footing in the subtle nuances of social interaction.

I can’t fault them — those someones — for making those assumptions, but I do wish they had shown me compassion, a kindness.