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Week #2: My Earliest Memory

This week on my 52-Week Blog Challenge, I’ll be trying to dredge up some old memories. My earliest memory to be exact.

Well, crap. This is a particularly difficult one because I honestly cannot remember anything prior to the age of ten.

Repressed much?

Nah, I don’t think so. But, if you even try to search Dr. Google to figure out why that is, you’ll get more than you bargained for in research topics. Trust me. #dontdoit #rabbitholeofneurosis

However, I did stumble across this one article, which I promptly lost and now for the life of me cannot find, that said individuals who didn’t place importance on their early childhood experiences are more likely to not remember them…or something like that. Basically, if nothing stood out as interesting during those years, then it was less likely the person would create a memory.

Well, hell. What does that say about me? That, as a child, I was so uninterested in my own childhood, I literally have no memory of it. Man, talk about R.B.F. personified. I feel bad for my mom now.

Hope y’all have better luck with the challenge this week.

xoxo SC

Oh, to answer the question…

I was ten. Okay, maybe eleven.

I remember riding in the back of my Dad’s blue Ford pickup. We were driving home from watching the 4th of July fireworks at Great America. My grandma was in the truckbed with my sister and I, all tangled up in blankets and pillows (I know, totally safe, right). But the wind- it was warm. And, the sky was dark blue, midnight blue, and spackled with thousands of yellow-white stars. And, my heart raced as my gradmother sang inappropriate songs and we went bumpity-bump along the streets.

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