As a child I spent a good part of my time looking for things I had mislaid. I would be very ashamed of the situation, and too embarrassed to let on. The search could go on for 10 minutes or more. Most often I would be looking for my cap -- a part of my school uniform – which had a habit of vanishing. My school bag was another, my pencil, my homework, my tennis ball, you name it. I nursed my watch which my Uncle Sam had given me on my ninth birthday. Not wanting to take any risk with such a delicate, precious item, I would take it off and brilliantly put it in the fridge, for safe keeping. When I returned from my cricket game the watch would be cold but I would never have to look for it. As a result of this logic, the fridge was added to my list of places to search.

Sometimes, after wandering around the house trying not to reveal my growing anxiety, my brother Syd, who was six years older than me, would sit me down.

“So tell me,” he would say, in a very level tone, like a patient and kind detective: “What are you looking for this time?” To which I would answer, sheepishly: “The cap has disappeared again.” I had nothing to lose, so I blamed the cap. Syd, who was destined to be an accountant, was very logical: “Think carefully, when did you last see it?” “When I came home from school.” Syd: “So where did you put it down? Think!” As if I had not been thinking, when actually, I had been thinking a lot. However, Syd really had good intentions. I worshipped him.

“Let's go to your school bag — I hope you know where it is,” Syd said. I could not see the point of doing that, but in hindsight, I had to admit that Syd always had his reasons. Of course, we looked all around the school bag, but without any success. Syd then said, “Let’s open the bag.” The words were barely out of his mouth, when I shouted, “I know where it is! It’s in the bag.” Syd loved me so he let me have the satisfaction of remembering for myself.

Thirteen years later I was managing a young furniture company with a staff which had grown to 10 people. I was always running. My office, a glass box, was divided in two, and I shared it with my administrative manager. One day I went to the bathroom at the back of the shop, taking my newspaper along. As usual, my mind was flying in all directions. What have I forgotten, what deadlines have I overlooked? When I returned to my office, I discovered that instead of the newspaper, I had the toilet roll in my hand. I glanced around furtively, to see if anyone had noticed, and walked back, hiding the toilet roll under my arm as best I could, to retrieve my newspaper.

The Dale Carnegie course in public speaking had just been launched in South Africa. It promised to cure all ills, from being in trouble with the wife to being too argumentative or too timid, to being forgetful or stuck in a rut. The big boss decided that all the little bosses should take the course, a gift from the parent company. The course consisted of 16 workshops, each of 4 hours once a week.

Each group consisted of 40 students and a lecturer. At the first lesson each student was asked to state in 30 seconds or less what he hoped to get out of the course. I was the only student to say that I had a memory problem. The subject of the first lesson was the importance of remembering people’s names after being introduced. Forgetting names is a common problem and can be embarrassing. The instructor proposed two or three practical ways. One was by associating the name with something: You meet someone called Jack, and to remember his name you think of playing cards and the Jack.

The main part of the first lesson was devoted to each student suggesting a play around his name, using one of the Carnegie tricks. Toward the end of the lesson there was a competition. Each pupil would stand up for 15 seconds without saying a word, and the students were supposed to write down his name. There was a prize for the student who had correctly recalled the most names, which, to my great surprise, I actually won. I was the only student who had given his poor memory as his reason for joining. I have since learned that a good memory is one thing, and being absent-minded is quite another.

Once a month I go for a pedicure. My childhood problems are still with me and oblige me to be extra careful not to forget my cap or anything else that could be forgotten. Recently, I had my monthly pedicure with Nitza at the Pedic Center. I removed my shoes and socks and put my cap down next to them to be sure not to forget it. As always, Nitza gave me a superb treatment. Afterwards, I picked up my cap and immediately put it on, so as not to forget it.

I put on the first sock and bent down to pick up the second, but could not find it. I searched everywhere, without success. First Nitza, then her secretary, joined the search party, but it had disappeared. Nitza suggested, very politely, that perhaps I had put both socks on one foot. So I took off the sock, but no, the second sock was not there. We were mystified. Suddenly, Nitza noticed that my cap was slightly out of shape. I took it off and there was the sock hiding inside.

Here I am, 60 years down the road, and it seems that nothing has changed.