Since my blog deals with childhood memories, I was going to say… “Hey, just read my blog!”
But I have never written about my earliest memory. There is not much to it except it seems extraordinary that I could remember something that happened to me when I was just about 18 months old.
I fell down the stairs. A steep set of stairs in our old farm-house. No carpeting on the stairs, just old wooden stairs that ended in the kitchen. I don’t know what preceded the mishap but I am assuming my mom was in the kitchen, I quietly sneaked upstairs while she was busy, and came back down in a hurry.
I remember falling. I wasn’t hurt. my mom probably wouldn’t have even known it if she hadn’t been right there when it happened. I can remember not being a bit scared until I saw my Mom running over crying and screaming. Panic set in immediately and I began to sob. Of course, my Mom thought I was hurt and scooped me up to examine every inch of my body (especially my head)
My Mom and I discussed this event when I was in grade school. I think I was writing a story about memories. She was rather shocked when I retold the story and that was when I found out my age at the time. She said, “There is no way you could remember that! You were just a toddler!”
But I remember.