In recent months, I have thought about calling my parents to see whether I could ferret out some family information from them.

This past March, my father turned 80, and in May, my mother turned 71. Mentally, they are as sharp as ever.

My being under age 50, I felt that their good health boded well for me. Nevertheless, I do feel a little shortchanged every time memory lapse beckons.

This feeling was exacerbated when a new member of our church called out my three sons’ names correctly and in age order. My eyes popped open, as even family members and close friends have a hard time calling these boys’ names properly.

It doesn’t help that all their names begin with the letter “J.” So all most people ever recall is the sound, “jejejeje.”

I was consoled later, however, when she said that her profession demanded that she know people’s names from memory.

Not long ago, I wrote in this column about my ability to recite from memory the 50 students’ first and last names that made up my fourth-grade class.

I still remember all of my nieces, nephews, friends and close associates’ birthdays, and wedding anniversaries for those who are married.

Never for a minute would I ever confuse long-term memory with short-term memory. The brain can be very discriminating, I know.

It is no fun, though, when people come up to me and call me by name with a cheerful smile, and I have no clue as to who they are. I must change that. Fast. But where do I begin?

Do I blame technology for this mental damage, or do I need to be more proactive in remembering people’s faces or names like my friend at church?

Once upon a time, with a rotary telephone, I could recall at least 150 telephone numbers from memory. But with the advent of cell phones, I am ashamed to say that the numbers I do know by memory are less than my fingers.

There’s hardly any incentive to remembering telephone numbers these days when one could just scroll through his contacts and retrieve a number at random.

For a lot of people, if their cell phones were to be lost or stolen, then that would be the end of the road for a life-long relationship with family and friends, since there’s no back-up information scribbled anywhere for those loved ones.

Social networking, too, is taking its toll on me. With the legions of people flooding Facebook, I’m told if that site were a country, it would be the second largest nation on Earth, following China.

I have a problem, though, with people who hardly say “hi” to me in a religious or business setting, but want to become my friend on Facebook, Twitter or LinkedIn. Will I be your friend just to make up numbers? I don’t think so.

Why I’m hemorrhaging over this dilemma, I guess, is that once I’ve allowed somebody in my circle, I expect that relationship to be more meaningful over time. My hope is that we will eventually graduate from going to Starbucks as our primary meeting place, and instead host dinners at our respective homes every now and then.

Technology will come and go, but at the end of the day, human beings are here to manipulate these apparatuses to suit our needs.

Great relationships are near and dear to my heart, and that’s why I am being proactive in maintaining meaningful friendships.

I have even gone as far as getting tips from the blind to teach me how to really see. In the fascinating book “Crashing Through,” Mike May, who had been blind since age 3 and regained his sight through surgery 43 years later, struggled with differentiating people.

Even though his eye was now perfect, his brain had forgotten how to process visual input. Is technology overload doing this to us collectively as a people?

Whenever he looked at people, all he saw were amorphous beings walking about. For a long time, he had a hard time telling his two sons apart. His world had been one of hearing and feeling. He literally had to purpose himself to see all over again.

Therefore, by the time a relationship was forged, it will have transcended more than face value. The man will have recalled the nightingale that serenaded him and total strangers as they played stickball at the botanical garden.

He will have grinned ear to ear every time he thinks about how simple a hello at the mall metamorphosed into lifelong friendship.

While I may never remember every eye color or cleft chin, understand that I am doing my best to stay above the social networking fray.

Long after Facebook, I will still remember your baby’s smile, your grandmother’s warm embrace, and that homeless man’s counsel. Even if I still struggle to remember your face.