|I remember learning that if you cut an apple the other way, you get a star|
I would love to report that my first memory is something significant – poignant, exciting or somehow casting a shadow on the rest.
Only, it isn’t. I could make something up, of course. Perhaps witnessing something alarming or meeting someone astounding, all in vivid detail. That’s what people do, isn’t it? It must be.
I can’t be the only one who doesn’t have a crystal clear recollection of some back garden altercation or playground drama.
Sure I remember things – images, sensations or snatches of dialogue – only they’re vague and gauzy, unclear in detail or date order.
There was the day I wet myself at primary school (or nursery), the time my little sister had an allergic reaction, my dad coming in from work, our home, the dog, egg mashed with bread, and books, games and patterned buttons.
What I’m never sure of is if the memory is all mine or if it’s been planted there by way of someone else’s reminiscence. How do you know?
Did I make it up to fit the family folk lore or created the back story of a faded black and white photo?
Then sometimes the glimpse of a relic, the curve of a road and a vault of personal history whooshes open creating the oddest sensation of something just out of reach.
How are your far-back memories?
This post topic was suggested by a prompt for Vonnie’s NaBloPoMo round ups.