I’m still in diapers. I wake up on the front seat of my parent’s car. Or is it the bench seat of a pickup truck? I sit up and look around to see my cousin Ronnie, a toddler wearing only his diaper. He has come to the open car door to check on me or tell me to wake up. I learn from my parents later that this very early memory happened during my second year at Carter’s Lake in the Rio Grande Valley. It was one of their regular hangouts, and I had been taking a nap in the car. It would have been 1960. My earliest memory.
|That’s me third from the right. I don’t know what my dad is showing me! My cousin is to my right.
This photo was taken on the day I woke up in the car.
I have a few more memories from my early days in the Valley. Waking up in the middle of the night to a shaking house as a train rumbles by, seemingly just outside the front door. In actuality it was about a block and a half away. It was loud and scary for a toddler. I also remember playing hide and seek behind a bed, my playmate daring me to pop up and look through the window at the strange-faced Texsun logo on the factory behind the house. I don’t remember if it was a sun with a face or what it was, but it was frightening to me as a small child. It turns out that my playmate must have been one of my teenage aunts. I wasn’t even a year old, according to my dad. It was 1959, the year I was born.
|This is me on the same day with my uncle Harold. Droopy diaper and all!|
Strange that I have such early memories. I don’t hold to any old wives’ tales about early memories relating to intelligence, although I would certainly like to think it is true. My brother and sisters would love that!
I had a couple more thoughts regarding my previous post. I was born, thanks to my parents! Thanks, Mom and Dad! Also, my family would argue that I must not have been born on a Tuesday, regardless of the 1959 calendar, because my clumsiness certainly challenges the “full of grace” line of that Mother Goose poem. When medical personnel ask me if I have fallen in the past twelve months, my answer is: “Probably.” I blame it on my bifocals.
It’s so much fun getting older. At least I get to write memoirs. Stay tuned. . .