The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week, "Earliest Memory", gave me pause, mainly because a lot of my memories before the age of 10 are few and far between, not to mention fuzzy.
You see, when I was 10, my father left us -- my mother, me, and my younger sister. I remember THAT event like it was yesterday because it seemed like it came out of nowhere and was so traumatic. I didn't know until years later that there had been some problems between my parents but that my mother made sure we never saw them fighting, and that's why my sister and I had no clue of any trouble in our little "paradise". That first night when I discovered my dad was gone is something that is seared into my consciousness, and time and maturity have not erased it. But that's not my earliest memory... it's merely the earliest life-altering one.
I have lots of memories of my life after that time, but I have come to believe that I may have blocked out many of my earlier memories in an effort to block out the life we had "before". Like most children who experience some painful life-channging event, life gets separated into the before and the after. In the before, you've got a normal kid life, where you go to school, come home, have an after-school snack, play with friends and learn how to get along with your peers. You are oblivious to pain, anger, sadness, unkindness, betrayal, neglect, and feeling not good enough. Life is sort of a blur of all that childhood "normalness".
Then that big event -- whatever it is -- happens, and your life is never the same again. Now you're AWARE... aware that people can hurt you, aware that bad things happen to good people, and aware that you're not "safe" anymore.
Some people block out the traumatic events themselves. I didn't. Instead I think I blocked out almost all of the good memories of the person who caused the pain... and as a result I have few really strong memories of my life before. Those few early memories I do have are more like faded snapshots... like a slideshow going from memory to memory, where sometimes the slides are out of focus and not even in the right order.
Being 3 and in the hospital in a crib-bed in a darkened ward after having had my tonsils out, and playing with a plastic Woody Woodpecker toy.
My mother rocking me in a rocking chair.
Finding some special treat waiting on my bed when I get home from school, like maybe a new outfit, that my mother bought for me while she was out that day.
My father scratching my back.
Riding my tricycle down our driveway into the street without being able to stop and falling over in the middle of the street in front of a car -- but fortunately it was an older neighbor who drove at a snail's pace anyway.
A boy in my kindergarten class kissing me on the cheek. I don't remember his name, and I wasn't happy about it. Because he wasn't my first "boyfriend".
Being at another girl's birthday party and falling off the see-saw (Cathy Fritz's fault, really) and breaking my arm. My 5th grade teacher, that I didn't even like that much, taking the entire class bowling and then having us over to her house afterward and not being able to bowl because my arm was in a sling.
Flashbacks involving other children, not all pleasant... going to Lori Gorab's birthday party and her little brother accidentally slamming the car door on my hand when it was time for me to leave. Jumping into Cathy Fritz's swimming pool (we didn't have permission) and thinking I was drowning, even though Cathy did make us both put on life jackets because it was the "rule" at her house -- I think this was before I went for swimming lessons.
Playing with Barbie dolls and having sleepovers. Dancing around my friend Claire's room while we listened to "Wedding Bell Blues" on her Tootaloop portable radio (remember those?)
My sister getting a toy farm for Christmas one year and her insisting on putting the plastic pig in the Nativity, while my mother tried to explain to her that it wasn't really a "match". That pig stayed in that Nativity for years afterward. My mom gave that Nativity to my sister when she started her own family, and maybe the pig is still in there, I don't know.
Me performing a play "marriage" -- my sister to Cathy Fritz's little brother, Roger (my sister's "first love") -- complete with flowers and bridesmaids and everything. (Come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever annulled that marriage.)
Riding bikes. Getting taken out for Dairy Queen on a summer's evening. Going to the local fair with rides and fireworks.
So I can't really pick an "earliest" memory, mainly because I can't always tell the difference between an actual memory and something I've seen in one of our family photographs. Do I really recall my sister and I pouring buckets of water over our father's head as he sat, too large, in our kiddie pool tolerantly putting up with our silliness? Or is it just that I have a photo from it when it happened? Most of the things in old family photos are things of which I have no actual "memories". And the things I remember have no photos.
What seems rather sad to me is how much easier it is for me to recall the bad memories, both in the before and after of my 10th year... why is that? Is it that our painful memories leave a more indelible mark on our psyches? Just like avoiding pain seems to be a more powerful motivator than seeking pleasure, it seems that our internal "memory banks" are pre-programmed to pick out the negatives more easily than the positives.
I think what is significant, though, is not how many good vs. bad memories we might have, but which ones we choose as "defining" us. Yes, like anyone else I have my memories of all the painful things that have happened in my life. But I do have good ones too... and those are the ones I normally choose to focus upon. Because I don't want to be someone who is stuck in the unhappy past.
I'd rather choose happiness.
