First Memory

Since this is my first post on this blog, I thought it would be appropriate, instead of welcoming and explaining things to the reader (which is both customary and polite [oh yeah, get used to parentheses and brackets {and whatever these things are called} because I get side tracked a lot and I don't really care about sentence structure or... making short sentences]), to describe my first memory ever. 

Here it is.

I have lots of memories of my first house in Alexandria. Easter eggs hanging on the tree out front, the dark basement that was paradoxically fun (due to the trampoline, which my mom still has today) and horrifying (due to the daddy longlegs), our tv, which was a computer monitor, and our neighbor's daughter who's name escapes me (the only name I keep coming up with is Diarreah, but that's not a common name). My first real recorded event, my first real memory was of my parents. I must have been two or a little younger than three at the time, which is pretty damn impressive.

I remember being in the living room and hearing my parents in the kitchen. I either crawled or walked, I can't remember, into the kitchen and came upon my parents fighting (or arguing). The most vivid thing I remember though, is my mom picking up some book and slapping my dad across the face with it. That's it. That's my earliest memory and it's a vivid image that has stuck with me since. 

When I asked my mom about it a few years ago, she said she didn't remember it, and she especially didn't remember any book. However, with my parents I wouldn't be surprised. 

I bet my dad deserved it. 

First Memory

Since this is my first post on this blog, I thought it would be appropriate, instead of welcoming and explaining things to the reader (which is both customary and polite [oh yeah, get used to parentheses and brackets {and whatever these things are called} because I get side tracked a lot and I don't really care about sentence structure or... making short sentences]), to describe my first memory ever. 

Here it is.

I have lots of memories of my first house in Alexandria. Easter eggs hanging on the tree out front, the dark basement that was paradoxically fun (due to the trampoline, which my mom still has today) and horrifying (due to the daddy longlegs), our tv, which was a computer monitor, and our neighbor's daughter who's name escapes me (the only name I keep coming up with is Diarreah, but that's not a common name). My first real recorded event, my first real memory was of my parents. I must have been two or a little younger than three at the time, which is pretty damn impressive.

I remember being in the living room and hearing my parents in the kitchen. I either crawled or walked, I can't remember, into the kitchen and came upon my parents fighting (or arguing). The most vivid thing I remember though, is my mom picking up some book and slapping my dad across the face with it. That's it. That's my earliest memory and it's a vivid image that has stuck with me since. 

When I asked my mom about it a few years ago, she said she didn't remember it, and she especially didn't remember any book. However, with my parents I wouldn't be surprised. 

I bet my dad deserved it.