So here’s part two of my bright idea to motivate myself to blog more consistently. I will share a memory each Monday. The interesting thing about memories is that the same event isn’t always remembered in the same way by different people. These are my memories. They may not be totally accurate, but they are how I remember things. I make no apologies for that, and after all – I am a storyteller. So let’s jump down the rabbit hole, shall we? 🙂
My Earliest Memory
I am three or four years old. We live in a stucco house in the West Flat in Prince Albert. My daddy has been away (for work, I’m guessing). He’s coming home today! Any time now…
I’m sitting by the back door, on the steps (two, maybe three) that lead up from the right of the door to the kitchen. It’s not winter, because the porch isn’t full of boots and coats, and it’s not cold by the door. It’s not summer, because my brother and sister aren’t home. I’m going to be the first one he sees when he comes home! Mommy’s working in the kitchen. I keep asking her when he’s going to be here, and she just smiles and says “Soon.”
I start wriggling with excitement when Mommy announces “He’s here!”, stretching “here” out like a two-tone doorbell. The door opens and… he walks right past me and gives Mommy a big hug.
“Damn you,” I hiss quietly, although not quiet enough I soon find out.
My first (and only) taste of soap. Blecch!
So what’s your first memory? Care to share?