I took my three eldest children to a high school basketball game this evening. One of the teams was coached by a childhood friend of mine.

The last time we visited this school, my father fell and broke the fall with his face. This time, no injuries.

My three-year-old son remembered the coach — he had accompanied us to a baseball game last summer. So, whenever the coach stood up during the game, my son would wave to him. (And he couldn’t understand why the coach never waved back. Might be because: (a) he was working; (b) we were sitting about 20 rows up; and (c) we were behind the coach, so he never saw the waves.

After the game, and after speaking with the press, the coach came out and was surprised that my son remembered him — they had met only once, at the baseball game. I explained my theory that, when you’re three, you have fewer memories, and thus can remember them all.