Some Earliest Memories

Why do we hold on to certain memories in our distant personal pasts while casting off most others into oblivion? When I was not quite two, I remember having just moved into a new apartment (in Opa-Locka, Florida) with my family. My (nearly) six-year old sister and I were standing outside on the porch looking off at two sets of swing sets: the closest had no swings hanging from it and the farthest had a full complement of swings. I remember my sister bemoaning the fact that we weren’t permitted to go down there to the “good” swing set, where we saw other kids playing. Another memory of my ancient childhood (c. 1958-59) was my mother telling me how far down the sidewalk I was allowed to ride my tricycle before having to turn back. And then me going farther anyway (when she wasn't watching)! Or about the time my mother sent me to a neighbor’s apartment to borrow some sugar. When I got there, they proceeded to grab me, put me in a high chair, and begin to serve me supper! I was horrified since this wasn’t on my agenda, but was somehow unable to get across my mother’s reason for sending me. Finally, my sister showed up and rescued me from this well-intentioned imprisonment!

But why would those memories linger while others died? I believe that there are two reasons for this. First, I chose to reflect upon those memories I just described soon after the experiences occurred. By doing so, this reinforced their importance to me over other experiences that I decided were marginally too insignificant to reflect upon. Second, it may be true that some memories carry lessons with them that have life-long applications. The swing set memory may have stressed the notion that I wasn’t allowed to participate in fun things while others were (life isn’t fair). The tricycle memory stressed the notion that not even a supreme authority (like my mother) ultimately carried more authority than my own will, for better or worse (“I gotta be me”). And the “benevolent kidnapping” incident stressed the notion that I could be going about life minding my own business and then others could set events in motion around me, totally screwing up everything ($#!& happens)! (Plus, the world seems to full of people who think they know what’s best for me, my protestations to the contrary!)

I have quite a few old memories, but they only go back (consciously) to just before I turned two. But even back then, as far as I was concerned, I was just as old (to me) as I am now at 51 years. It’s just that, at some point in my toddler years, I began to tie together certain chosen memories for reflection and then began to draw generalities from them regarding life. This was probably the beginning of my own personal narrative, which grew with time and ran intertwined with my real existence to this day, without ever quite matching it. And I suppose that almost everyone else has this sort of duality going on with their lives as well, originally springing from very early memories from infancy.