Some where some scientist has published in a study saying that children don’t remember things before they are 3 years of age. That is, unless they are those super smart genius type people. See I was born in Midwest City, Oklahoma, a suburb of Oklahoma City, home of Tinker Air Force Base. That’s where my daddy was stationed at the time, and my mother worked for the DoD there too.
My little sister is 3 weeks shy of being 3 years younger than me. Now I don’t remember a whole lot growing up in Oklahoma, aside from the stories my parents have told me over the years, but there is one story I do remember. And when I told my parents about it, well, it kinda scared them. Because they aren’t ignorant people by any stretch of the word, and they know kids aren’t supposed to have their own memories of when they are really little!
Now I don’t know how old I was, but I’m guessing I was about a year and a half or 2 (I don’t remember my mom being pregnant with my sister yet.) My bedroom was directly across the hallway from my parents bedroom, (only other house this happened at was when I was a teenager), but our rooms were at the end of the hall. Now in our family, we always save all the cards, post cards, and letters you get in the mail, and you store them in your bottom dresser drawer. We refer to that as our “junk drawer”, as it collects everything. Well, I would wake up early every Saturday morning and play post office. I would take a card out of my junk drawer and deliver it to my dad in bed, (way before the sun was up) and I would do this for probably an hour or two.
The second early childhood memory I have is jumping up into my mom’s hospital bed shortly after she delivered my sister, (so I would have been just under 3) asking to see my new baby.
Then, I remember the day we were all packed up to move from Oklahoma to Michigan, we were eating macaroni and cheese with hot dogs cut up in it, from paper plates, sitting on the living room floor using over turned milk crates as tables.
And lastly, we drove in U-Hauls from Oklahoma to Michigan, I rode in the truck with my Bobcia (Polish for grandma) and she had given me this little plastic connecting bead set that you could make bracelets and necklaces with. Well, I had spilled it all over the cab of the truck and was very upset by loosing it, because I had some so on the first day of the trip.
The point for that whole little trip down memory lane was that my mother NEVER believed that I actually truly had those memories on my own. Until I started getting older. Then I would start remembering things that I would have to ask other family members about, such as a driving habit of my Dza dza (Polish for grandpa) before he had his double leg amputation (which was done when I was 5), and the only way I would have know about the habit would have been because I witnessed it!
Trust me, I could go on all day about my mother! I will get into her more later…
But, to get back to my main paint, they should have know back then there was something special about how my brain! It may have made my adult a little bit easier to handle…but the ride wouldn’t have been half as fun!