This was a difficult one for me. I don’t remember much of my childhood and I don’t always remember details from being an adult. I think that’s why I’ve always valued writing because once written down, memories are recorded forever. I journaled a lot in high school for that very reason (as well as to soothe my teenage angst).
So my memory stinks.
My earliest memory is actually of preschool. There was a kitchen area and a workshop area and I remember always needing to change my clothes because I got soaked washing dishes in the kitchen area. Not much has changed, I’m still pretty sloppy when it comes to household chores. 😛 But that is the earliest memory that I carry with me.
I have to assume that not remembering much from my childhood is good. I was abandoned as a toddler and at some point before I was adopted my arm was broken badly enough to need surgery. I don’t remember any of it, and I’m glad. Oddly, I never really thought much about it until I had children of my own. When my youngest was about 2, I remember watching him while he was sleeping and coming to the realization that I was his age when I was abandoned. As a parent, I couldn’t imagine it.
And I’m glad that I don’t remember it.
So I’ll take the memory of preschool, happy that I don’t remember anything before. I’d rather keep that little messy sweet girl untainted by any of the sadness she may have experienced before her make-believe kitchen came along.