I read somewhere that memories don't form completely until a child's vocabulary has enhanced. I suppose this makes sense as its easier to describe your memories if you have the vocabulary to know what your brain is seeing. I think I also remember reading or hearing at some point that often early memories, before the age of 5, occur due to tragic incidents. I can relate to that. Many of my earliest memories revolve around what I would say were tragic times, however they do not dwell on the tragic event itself. Rather, my memories are splotchy, at best, and some revolve around happier moments during those tragic times, or perhaps I remember a specific smell or color from that time in my life. In any case, it is quite odd to be in ones 30's, reminiscing about what happened at age 2.
It's hard to know what is truly a memory, and what is something the my brain has developed as a memory from the stories that were told to me, about me or specific events. When I was 2, I broke my leg. I have been told the story of how this happened often. My cousin Kilian was visiting. No one has told me if the whole family was visiting at that point, or just my cousin. I honestly have no recollection. According to the stories, my dad was playing ball with my cousin. No word as to what kind of ball. Were they throwing a football? Playing Basketball? Soccer? Somehow it is hard for me to think that my dad was playing any sort of ball with my cousin, but that is how the story goes. Supposedly, whatever ball it was, got away from my cousin. I tried to "help" and fetch said ball. Instead, I fell down and my cousin, who by the way is about 10 years or so older than I am, stepped on my leg, giving it a clean break. Now, this is a traumatic event. You would think I would remember breaking my leg. Nope, I only have the stories. But I do have some memories of this time in my life. I remember being carried to an from our little, yellow Ford Fiesta every day when my mom needed to take me out somewhere. See, they don't make crutches for children the age of 2! I remember my mom having to take my little brother out first, who was perhaps about 3 months of age at that time, and then have to carry me out too. How did she get anything done, I wonder? I doubt we went out much, but I do remember being carried a couple times out to that car, in the hot desert sun.
I have other early memories. I can tell all these memories are before I was 5 because of where we lived. When I turned 5, we moved into what is still my family home. Before I was 5, we lived in a mobile home on the other end of town. Funny, I remember on certain things about that home. I remember the layout just vaguely. The house was situated on a little bit of desert land. I remember having a horse in the back yard. I remember a large tree out front, however I was under the age of 5, all trees looked LARGE to me. The home was situated lengthwise, parallel to the street. As you walked into the front door, you were immediately in the living room, and just slightly to the left was a fireplace. If you were to walk a little more, you would come to the kitchen, which you could get to on either side of the fire place, sort of a "walk-thru" kitchen. My bedroom, and my brother's bedroom, were off to the right of the living room and kitchen, and my parent's bedroom was off to the left of the living room. For some reason, I remember a smell associated with that old house. The smell is something that for some reason I associate with the 70's. I'm not sure why. A little musty, a little sweet.
As I think about my old room, I can think of one specific memory taking place there. I can't say how old I was, but I was old enough to remember that I could speak, especially the words "I'm sorry". Mom was cleaning the house. Yes, I was lucky enough to have a mom who stayed home with me, and do the housework. I say lucky enough because I know how important it is to be home with your kids if you're able, and wish to be. So, on this day, my mother was cleaning the house. I very much recall the vacuum cleaner going. Oh, that vacuum cleaner, it was so loud! My mother swore by that vacuum. It was a Kirby, and we had that vacuum for at least 18 years of my life, and perhaps even before I was born! Looking back, it probably contributed to a lot of my allergy problems, but then the technology for hypo-allergenic bags was not around at that time. OK, back to the housework at hand. Something happened, this is a hole in my memory and my mothers, but I did something. I did something involving my doll stroller. Oh, I've never seen my mother so mad, and I don't think she was ever that mad again. The next thing I know, I'm screaming "I'm sorry!" and my mother is breaking my stroller - simply bending it in half as best she can, with all her might. I also remember a few days later, my mother buying me a new stroller. One that was big and pink and plastic, not small and metal. Years later, my mother would remember this incident as well, and tell me that she knew that day, she had gone too far. That after that incident, she went outside and prayed that she would never go that far again. As a mother myself, I too have gone "that far" and realized not only had I become my mother, but that my mother was only human.
