Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Earliest Memory

Your earliest memories are always shrouded in fog and they are often only brief moments, tiny snapshots that your brain managed to capture when you were very little. These memories have been corroded by the moths of time. They have holes in them, and it isn’t always easy to pull them out of storage and look at them.

My earliest memory is being inside a BOAC jet, flying to England. I am not sure how old I am, old enough to talk, old enough to hear my Mom’s voice and understand it. My younger brother Keith has been born, but if memory serves he’s just a baby. I am probably three years old.

I remember being tired and being unable to sleep in the chair of the plane. I had never slept sitting down before. My Mom tells me to go to the floor and sleep by her feet. I was small enough to crawl down to the floor in between the seats. I spread across the floor in this tiny gap, without inconveniencing anyone else. I remember my Mom’s voice telling me to go to sleep and that we’d be in England soon.

It was a soothing voice my Mom was always good at making you feel safe. I fell asleep, a mile high in the sky, and rocketing at 500 miles an hour towards England, and it remains my earliest memory.

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