A face by any other name ....

One of demeaning afflictions that I wrestle with is having a lack of ability in recognizing people. Actually, the problem is compounded. I may hesitate to greet a casual acquaintance by name in fear that my biological face recognition system has correlated the facial image to the wrong name file in my brain box database. Should the bolder half of my internal turmoil push aside my more cautious half and I awkwardly blurt out a monikor, invariably, and I am not exaggerating, I am always, consistently, and without fail, wrong.
Could this be a congenital defect? Could it be that some part of my embryonic spinal cord conked out before it divided and led to an underdeveloped neuro-mass?
Could the cause be a childhood head trauma? There are a few times that I remember playing at morning recess and regaining awareness in the last class of the day after sustaining a punishing blind side tackle in a friendly game of British Bulldog (at least that is what my classmates tell me). A small amount of internal bleeding could have drowned enough brain cells in just the right area. And please remember that concussions were far more acceptable back then and therefore more plentiful.
Then there were the phalanx of childhood diseases that could have done the job with pathological precision--brain rot pure and simple.
In any case, the burden is the same. I have trouble recognizing people. As outlined, these theories all indicate a physiological explanation. The other part of the conundrum that has left me batting minus 1000 in the “who-is-this game” is pure voodoo. Some greater humbling force is in play.
There is yet another curve comes my way. Women. Their hair style and colour can change at alarming rates. Great clues to ones identity, like clothing is changed with even greater frequency. Pregnancies, plus and minus 30 lbs weight swings, and plus or minus 30 lbs of makeup, render recognition an impossible challenge. How am I to cope?
My dear wife of 20 years cannot sympathize with my handicap. Her ability to recognize people transends space, time and the miriad of obstacles that plague me. She thinks I just don't pay attention. People that have evolved into other beings through calamity cannot fool her. The hordes of children that all look the same to me have individual names to her. Through her, I have discovered that the over employed starlet that frequents the Silver Screens is indeed many different ladies with distinct lives of their own.
I am not so far gone that I can’t recognize John Kennedy, although we never met. However, the average Joe and Joan leave me stumped. I suppose I am not as stressed by my own failings as I am by how offended people get when they think they didn’t make an impression upon me large enough to warrant having their name seared into some lobe of my grey matter.
The one consolation is that as age continues its advance my stated behaviour will become more acceptable and may even reach the level as charming in a quirky way.