RAM: On childhood and being good.
Sometimes I wonder why I was always so intent upon being a “good girl”. Was it my religious upbringing? Was any adventurous spirit smothered by doctrines and reminders to be good? I know that must have played a part in it, but for the most part, I think I ended up okay, and am a good person, if I say so myself. Of course, one could always ask to define “good”. I didn’t always follow the rules, but it took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t the rules or whether one followed them that made a person good or bad.
The one thing I loved about Kindergarten, well, two things actually, were story time, and learning the Alphabet. There were not pre-schools back then, and daycare was something mothers did, this was still a time of stay-at-home moms, at least for those families that could afford it.
My mom wasn’t one to “tell stories” though I’m sure she must have read a few story books to me, at least when I was little. I wish I could remember. What I do remember is when I would have an asthma attack at night, she would come in and tend to me, and sit in the bed with me, holding me up in a semi-sitting position, so I could breathe more easily and eventually go back to sleep. I remember how secure I felt in her arms, and so, strangely, some of my fondest memories of that age involve being sick. Something to think about.
Earliest memories around 1954-1957
I wonder how far back most people can remember events in their life? Do some people have clear concise memories from when they were tiny? Or is early childhood more of a fog, with only small bits peeking through from time to time? And how many of those memories are “true” memories, coming from within, spontaneously? I know some memories can be “grown” and nourished, perhaps through photos and family stories – you may not remember exactly but you have heard the story and seen the photos so often it becomes like your own memory.
Those are not the kinds of memories I intend to share here. what I want to share are memories that come to me naturally, not from stories I’ve been told, but from tiny bits that are saved in whatever long-term storage locker I have in my mind. Which can cause a problem for early memories, because my early childhood is very much a blur, aside from a few tiny glimpses, vignettes of the past. Here are three such glimpses.