Friday, May 27, 2011

Just the Other Day

I was all firsts
Cold lips and nose
Puffy warm jacket
Hard solid sled
Giant Father
Scraping sounds
Bumpy ride
Deep Laughter
Foggy breath
Rushing shapes
Speeding bouncing
Labored breathing
Sudden stop
Endless giggles

Ken Goree

This is my first memory.  I must have been two or three, and we lived in Maryland.  I have other early memories, but those are the kind that aren’t really memories, but the memories of stories that other people have told so many times that they feel like real memories. 

The best “implanted memory” was when we were spending a summer on a farm in West Virginia.  I was probably only one or two, because I was in a crib, or playpen, on the porch.  My parents were out working in the garden, until they heard a blood curdling scream from me.  My mom was sure I had been bitten by a rattle snake, and both parents came running with a shovel and a hoe, intending to hack up my ophidian attacker. 

When they arrived, there was no snake, but I was still screaming hysterically.  Apparently, if a hornet climbs into your ear to see if it is a good place to make a nest, you shouldn’t stick your finger in there with it.  Lesson learned.

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