Earliest Memory

I remember standing in my crib, crying, wanting my mommy to come get me. She did not. Now, as an adult, I know I had the croup and was put to bed to cry myself to sleep because my parents were exhausted. But then, I was abandoned.

I’ve heard that your earliest memory is the thing that creates your world view. It’s possible to overcome that fear of abandonment, but first you have to be aware of it.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “earliest memory.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “Earliest Memory”

  1. A sun washed courtyard, with the heady odor of milk boiling and churning in huge woks.
    My earliest memory are of two , crisp starched saris.
    One white , scratchy and smelling of cloves, and cardamoms, belonging to my grandmother, and the other, soft,coloured , smelling of talcum and sweat; my mother’s.
    I remember clinging to both, like a limpet;by turns.
    A pampered childhood, one would say. A privileged one , I would concur.
    My grandfather’s squishy-squashy belly; over which I was bounced, with gay abandon.

  2. It was like things were falling apart immidiately she said it. My hand became stiffed, i couldn’t hold my pencil again. How the heck could she suggested i should go and continue my education with my granny, disgusting. Couldn’t belive he also agreed with her. But am glad i did.

  3. She stood in line and waited to be introduced to her new schoolmates. New uniform. New school. New rules. New life. She had been strictly warned to keep her telekinetic powers a secret. Her earliest memory was waking up in an empty metal cage. She had never been mixed with “normals” before. She’d have to observe and imitate the life habits of those who had lived without bars.

  4. The earliest memory I have of my father as a toddler is being taken by him to a local bakery close to our home and coming out with a cracker the size of a dinner plate. I remember walking down the street with him holding my left hand while I held the cracker with my right hand and nibbled the edge. Half of the time, he ended up eating most of the cracker since it was so big, but what I remember most is the fact that it was quality time with my ol’ man—something that I’ll never be able to share with him again…

  5. My memories live in olfactory cells. The earliest ones are warm and savory. Garliconiongingersoy cooking over a gas range, marinating pork shoulder, and the humid rice pot. The pungent diesel exhaust of tractors and farm trucks, rich fertile soil, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers. Grandpa’s cologne, chicken coops, feed corn, and fresh tortillas.

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