For some memory starts younger or older and I would guess based on my experiences it starts with something big, or what must have been seemed big as a child. And sometimes it is good, sometimes it is not. My husband has faint memories as young as three; mine do not start until I was five. With an almost four-year old in the house, I have been wondering what my children’s first memory might be of. What will their first memory of me be? It makes me concerned when I realize how important and emotional many of my memories are for me.
I was recently caught up in a flood of childhood memories. I love that feeling of the scene before my eyes, watching myself as if another person, complete with the smells, sounds or thoughts that occurred at that moment, the emotions I was feeling. Even now, some bring tears to my eyes, or make me laugh. For a few years, I even started recording them, afraid some how I would start to forget. But memories are lovely like that. Even if you forget them for a few years, sometimes it just comes to you… and you savor the memory all over again. And it is all yours to remember and enjoy. And I hope it stays that way while I age!
My most vivid and favorite memory (well, memories) right now are from when I was perhaps 7 or 8 and living in Connecticut. There was a small creek that ran to the neighborhood pond and that ran under our driveway. I was playing in a tree, with my friends there too, hanging on a part that hung over the edge. I distinctly recall the fear I felt when the branch snapped and broke off and I fell with it. Then I felt a rush of intense relief when I realized I had not fallen down on the rocks some 4-6 feet below and my friends were helping me claw my way up over the edge I was half hanging over. I can even still recall the sensation of slipping on the pine needles and their deep reddish-brown hue, having my face down in them. I laughed it off then, but I was sick for days thinking about it, thinking about how close I was to such serious injury. And while surely a separate day, but in the same creek, just farther down, I was hunting the giant bullfrog with a friend. It seems as though we spent hours in pursuit of it. But we splashed around in the shade of bushes and trees, chasing it by rocks and plants in our jelly shoes, determined to catch it, without fear when reaching into mucky water or in holes to chase it out. When I was victorious, with two small kid hands I could barely hold it around the middle. We quickly got a large bucket. I believe we kept it for a day, but did get him back to the stream.
Do you have a favorite memory? If you want, share it in the comments.
Muncie Mama 