I don’t remember hitting Graham on the head with a Marmite bottle when I was two; but he remembers.
I don’t remember learning to write and I don’t remember how I felt when I first went to school in Waterfalls.
I don’t remember when I first started on a spiritual path and I don’t remember what set me off.
I don’t remember when I decided to become a student at university – when I was 48.
I don’t remember the name of the tree behind the garage at the Big House.
There is something else I don’t remember but I’ve forgotten what it is, so it couldn’t have been very important. I wonder if I ever will remember?
I don’t remember when I decided I enjoyed writing. I don’t remember when I realised that I could write and that some other people liked to read what I’d written.
Not remembering is different from forgetting.