Friday, February 15, 2013

"My First Memory" by Bartholomew Stewart


My first memory was when I was living in Morristown, New Jersey, when I was about three years of age. It was in my day care center. I barely remember anything about Morristown; all I do remember is that those were the good times. I don’t remember ever having any problems when I lived there, because everything was just so happy and splendid, although that’s probably because I was a toddler. My Grandparents lived down the street, so they took care of my brother and I whenever my mother and father were at work. I think that the reason why New Jersey was so great was because I was always surrounded by loved ones. I had my first actual memory at day care. At day care, I had other toddler friends, and we played with these big, yellow, toy dump trucks. My friends and I would crash them together, and load them up with whatever we could find. We used to only play with those three dump trucks, and we had so much fun with them. I think that what also made the image of day care so significant was the fact that my grandmother would pick me up, and we would go to her house, and hang out there until my parents would pick me up. My grandmother and I used to walk down this one street to go to her house. I remember holding her hand while walking and I can remember how safe, and content I felt. When my family moved down to Virginia, my grandparents stayed in New Jersey. Because they lived in Morristown, which is a hike from northern Virginia, I was only able see my grandparents once or twice a year. Naturally, I began to miss them, and I realized how lucky I was as a kid to miss them, and I realized how lucky I was as a kid to be surrounded by a loving family. In the seventh grade, my grandparents moved into a Quaker retirement home in Sandy Spring, Maryland. Now I get to see them much more often, which is really nice. Every time I go up to Sandy Spring to see them, I remember all the great times I had in Morristown with them. I really love my grandparents, because of how close I was and still am to them. My grandfather in particular is a funny and truly jolly man. He is almost 90 years old, but he still tells jokes, sings nursery rhymes, and songs he learned in the navy. Everything about the man screams survivor. He’s smoked cigarettes probably since he was 18 years old, yet still he is happy, and healthy. Whenever I think about my grandparents, I think about how much this world needs the wisdom of elderly people. The time I spent and still spend with my grandparents will forever be part of my thoughts and prayers, even when they aren’t around.

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