My first memory…..

Sunday Scribblings hit it again.

What is my first memory? Is it an important one or simply a photograph in my mind? With my scrap booking I am trying to begin writing down all those photographs in my mind’s eye so they are not lost forever. It is actually a question I wish I had asked my grandparents and need to ask my parents and write them all down for my kids and their kids.

But a first memory…. Is it really mine or what others have told me? Funny thing is that I don’t remember some of those places and times. Like my Nannie’s house in Florida, I have no memory of that and I spent a great deal of time there, I know. I don’t remember the inside of my house in Charleston but I remember the backyard, my tree house around an actual tree and the next door neighbors 3 story tree house (really a covered lawn mower parking area and then a two story tree house above it). I remember when we took a picture of Ruger on the tree stump when he was just a pup but not my bedroom. I remember more of Africa than I am probably supposed to, but I think that is due to the uniqueness of the experience.

But a first memory, it is a toss up. I was about three. There is a dumb one and a cool one. The dumb one is just dumb. It is looking into my daycare back yard with its high fence and swing set against the back and a good sized tree in the middle with lots of toys and kids running around.

The cool one is easier, in some ways. It is the Atlantic Ocean. I was sitting in the front seat of a car looking through the windshield at the ocean. I remember the beach and palms trees and a gorgeous clear shot of the ocean. I don’t remember the color of the car or who I was with. I remember the dashboard is dark and the sun is barely up in the sky.

Many years later, I asked my father about it and he said it was probably the last time I saw him before I moved away with mom and my new ‘dad.’ That was the day he told me to call dad - Dad. I think perhaps I remember it for that. It has taken many years for me to forgive the feeling of abandonment; I think for him it was simply self-preservation. I am not sure if I hurt anymore. I just know I can never do the same not that I’d want to.

A sad picture… sometimes, but mostly I remember the beauty of the moment now. I love the ocean with its sounds and smells and the permeation of the air into your very soul.

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