"My Earliest Memory," by Victoria Lemmings

My earliest memory is of sitting on my father’s lap in the house I grew up in, just down the street from the house in which I live now. We were sitting in the front living room on our squishy turquoise couch. I used to love that couch just because of its color- no house I had ever been in had a couch as unique as mine. I used to sit on my dad’s lap in that front room and listen as he read me picture books and stories. The best time of day to do this was always in the morning because we had these thin, cream-colored curtains. As the sun would shine into the wide windows, the curtains would send yellowish beams of light all over the living room. I used to love bathing in that light because it was so warm and comfortable. Paired with the strong feel of my dad’s arm around me, it was bliss.

            I remember one time we were reading a book about a teacher. In the story, she read to her class and taught them arithmetic and history. Once, I asked by dad, “How did she become a teacher? Who decides she’s gonna be a teacher?” So young and so naïve, I didn’t understand how people found their job or decided their place in the world. I remember, clear as day, that my dad chuckled and told me, “She is the one who decides she’s going to be a teacher. Just like you will decide what you want to be one day. You can be anything in the world.”

            As a four year old (or however old I was at the time), this struck me as quite odd. I was too young to make the decision of what I wanted to eat for dinner, let alone what my job would be one day. I recall being a little bit confused, but I accepted it. As I grew up in that house, a lot of the memories I associate with my youth include being in that living room. But I don’t remember anything better than when my dad told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up.

            Now, my seventeen year old self is receiving letters from colleges in the mail, visiting universities, and thinking about what majors I might go into. The whole process is quite stressful and extremely overwhelming. However, through it all, my dad still has the same wise words that he had when I was a little kid. He insists to me that I can do whatever I set my mind to. If I want to become a doctor, I am capable of that. If I want to become a world traveler, I am capable of that, too. He reassures me daily that I have all the opportunity in the world. Even though so much has changed, my dad’s wisdom hasn’t. Just like the teacher in my childhood story book, I know I am the driver of my own destiny, and I find that very comforting- almost as comforting as sitting on my dad’s lap in the living room just reading a book. 

"I Remember" by Katniss

I remember the first time someone left; my dad departed our home in Mexico to America, but not before he promised that everything was going to be ok. In the years that he was gone I felt like it was my fault he left. My sorrow turned to anger and I thought, "who would do that to someone?" I remember seeing my dad after three years and running into his open arms; it was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. Later, I had trouble letting the neighborhood dog leave my house; he was a stray and when my mom discovered him hidden in our barn she sent him away.  After that I only saw him once in awhile, then not at all; I wasn’t surprised because he didn’t stay in the same place for too long. I remember when my grandpa left on a road trip and never came back; he had pulled over on his way home to rest and at the same time was hit by a drunk driver. My mom never drank; I remember her lecturing my sister and me for countless hours that alcohol was a crime in itself. Eventually, I made a promise that I wouldn’t leave anyone because letting them feel abandoned was something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies. However, I was not able to keep my promise. I remember having to constantly move from place to place, never staying long enough to learn my classmates' last names. My framed photographs would stay in their boxes because we did not stay long enough to call a house a home, so it never felt right to put them up. I remember my elementary school friends and our naïve conversations; we made up our own language thinking we were so slick. We made up games that had no rules and made no sense. Sooner or later I knew I would lose them and I did, but I learned that every end has a new beginning. In my new school and all that followed I made new friends, but I couldn’t help missing my old ones.  I remember hearing that you never really lose something because it stays with you. Still, I feel like it’s not the same compared to being physically with you.

"I Remember" by Victoria Lemmings

I remember playing hide and seek when I was only five years old. I would always hide behind the white curtains in my dining room, and in my mind I was pretty much invisible. My dad would walk past me numerous times in his search and pretend he was absolutely dismayed by what a “great hider” I was. Looking back, I know now that he was lying, but at the time, it made me feel like a pro. I remember eating breakfast with my mom right before my first day of kindergarten, starting at a brand new school. I had eggs and a bagel, which I almost threw up out of nervousness. I remember when my cat died when I was eight years old and I cried all day. I didn’t understand why pets should be allowed to leave and it was so unfair that I didn’t get so say goodbye. I remember playing outside as a kid when fall had just started and the leaves had begun to fall. My dad and I raked up every leave in my spacious yard, and I could have sworn that our leaf pile was a mile wide. I would propel myself off our old rope swing and dive into the mounds upon mounds of yellow and brown leaves. It was always the highlight of my autumns. I remember once I was messing around with my brothers while standing on a plastic red wagon in our kitchen. Before I had time to react the wheels had slipped, and I found myself crying on my cold kitchen floor. Sharp jolts of pain jolted up my arm, and it was probably the worst agony I had felt in my life up to that point. My nine year old self sobbed all the way to the doctors. I was wearing my new Franklin the Turtle pajamas. They were pink. I remember in fourth grade I had a massive crush on this boy in my class and I whispered about him at recess to my BFF. I remember I became good friends with this boy in sixth grade and then I thought it was gross that I had ever liked him in the first place. Silly fourth grader me! I remember on the first day of middle school, I came home and cried because I didn’t have any friends in any of my classes. I remember on the last day of middle school, I came home and cried because I was going to miss all my numbers of friends over the long summer months. I remember starting high school and being a dorky freshman. Once a senior ran into me in the hallway, and it was just about the scariest thing that’s ever happened. I remember getting my first D on a test and thinking that my life was over, and I shouldn’t even try in school anymore. Stupid biology. I was actually so upset over that grade, but looking back, I deserved it considering I honestly did not study one bit. I remember having painful fallouts with a number of my friends because of dumb fights over dumb things. I remember making a whole new set of nicer friends and accepting that things don’t always stay the same. Over time, I have changed so much, but I’m happy with how I’ve turned out. I remember all these things that may have been positive or negative at the time, but in reflection, define who I am and who I’ve grown up to be. And I think I’ve turned out okay.

"Memoir Chicken" by Katniss

At the age of four most kids feel as if they can do anything and everything. Living on a farm, comes with a load of work, for the adults. I wanted to do the chores they did, but whenever I attempted to, someone would stop me and tell me that I was too young and incapable. It was early in the morning; the sun had not come out. I snuck out of my bedroom and crept toward the chicken coop. The darkness was my cloak and the moonlight was my enemy. It followed me everywhere trying to expose me to the world. The walk seemed endless and I expected at any moment for someone to catch me and some part of me wanted to get caught.

The sun began to peak out of the horizon. I could no longer hide, the light was surrounding me. But it didn’t matter anymore. I had reached my destination. I was thinking that my parents would be so proud of me, because I could do the same chores they did. As I opened the door, I had second thoughts. Peering into the coop I noticed the chickens were all asleep. Thinking it was going to be easy, I took the bag of seeds and filled their bowls. Turning around, I slipped, spilling their food all over the place and landing on top of a pile of eggs. Suddenly one by one they woke up, all of them staring right at me. I got up slowly, backing away. I knew it was too late; it seemed as they knew what I had done. Adrenaline took over my body and I started to sprint toward the door. When I pushed the door open, the sunlight blinded me. I acted like a deer caught in headlights, nowhere to run and not knowing what to do. In a moment of panic, I got the idea of running onto the roof. At that time it was a good plan, believing that chickens were scared of heights; because they were chickens. I reached the staircase. Stumbling, tripping and falling on my way up, finally I was at the top. But they were determined. And my fear of the chickens turned into stupidity. I looked over the edge of the roof, it was not that high up, (for a grownup) but for me it was a nightmare come true. Being more afraid of the chickens than the heights, I closed my eyes and jumped. I remember the breeze that I felt; it relieved me of my sweaty forehead. I blanked out but not before a heard a crack. When I woke up, familiar faces were surrounding me. They were close enough to me that I could smell their breath when they spoke. I began to hear so many questions directed at me but I could not answer; my head was throbbing. I knew nothing at all at that moment; I was never told how long I was out.

I later found out from my family that they returned the chicken back to the coop and cleaned up the mess I made. I was not in trouble for my actions because I had already suffered the consequences. At first I had no idea what my punishment was, until my doctor told me that I broke my head. He predicted that for a month my sensory processing would be off.  Meaning that whatever I tasted or saw would be different from everyone else’s and their perception of something would be right. But he explained it as a bruised brain. I was also informed that I was lucky to not have fractured any more bones.  Being four years old, I thought that meant I had super powers. I was sent home a week later with medicine that tasted like chocolate. 

Everyone had told me that I would never be the same again, but I didn’t care one bit. I was now the only one in my family with a metal plate.  I don’t remember why, but I felt pride for what I accomplished. Maybe, it was because I had done something no one else in their right in would do, or maybe it was because from that moment on I was known to be fearless. In the end I never told my family why I was running from the chickens in the first place and I kept it that way. But never again did I step into the chicken coop, ever.

"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.

"What Do I Remember?" by Back Reed Gimp

What do I remember?

            Geez, what a heavy question to throw at someone. I can hardly remember what I had today for breakfast, let alone attempt to grasp at wisps of memories from years prior. But even as I’m typing this paper, I’m contradicting myself, as the memories, both good and bad, come flooding right back in, almost as if I had just experienced them yesterday. It’s quite funny how memories work; they can be triggered and activated in ways you would never expect. All it takes is one look at my pencil, and I immediately begin to delve into my mind, back to my days in elementary school, when I didn’t have a care in the world…

            All of a sudden, I’m back in Buzz Aldrin Elementary, stuck in my awkward, ham-fisted, and quite porky first-grader body. I’m playing Cowboys and Indians with my equally awkward friend Tristan, his lanky arms and misshapen head swinging wildly as he attempts to belch out his best war cry. I, being the cowboy, grab my worn-out Paper-Mate pencil and hold it as a gun, pretending to take pot shots at the dastardly and savage Indian I now saw in place of Tristan. At this point, I was no longer a pathetic and weak first-grader, but a brave and stoic hero ready to lay down frontier justice on anyone audacious enough to dare cross my cattle or me. For a few fleeting seconds, I felt like a real badass a la the Man with no Name (Clint Eastwood, just how do you manage to embody so much manliness and testosterone?). Unfortunately, my lofty daydreams came crashing down when Ms. M.—lovingly called “The Witch” by our class—came to ruin our fun. She came in, furious; snatching the pencil from my hand and giving the meanest stink-eye I had ever seen. She began to then give me her most long-winded speech on “responsibility” and “proper attitude”, but at this point, my puny first-grader brain was no longer paying attention. Instead, my attention was focused elsewhere, on the almost routinely daily fight occurring at the dusty and unkempt kickball field over who gets first pick. At this point, a white light blinds my vision.

           

CRASH! As I regain my sight and get a bearing of my surroundings, this is the first sound I hear. I’m no longer an elementary student, but instead a 7^th grader, wiser and smarter, but not by much. I am welcomed by a sensuous visual of flying books and thrown pillows, the books lying dead and limp on their spines after being tossed and the pillows scattering feathers and month-old dust into the air after being thrown.

“Go to hell!” my sister angrily screams.

“If I do, I’m going to drag you with me!” my mother retorts. At this point, this kind of sight is quite the norm, whether it was due to my sister’s added stress of being a junior, my mom’s frustration over her incompetent and arguably nepotistic boss, or a combination of both. Either way, at this point, the fight about to reach its climax that I was going to witness, whether I wanted to or not.

“Back Reed!” my mother screams. Here we go, when my mom starts to get me involved, you know things are about to get ugly.

“Yes mother?” I reply, trying to mask my indifference.

“Is what Jenny’s done right or wrong?”

“Wrong,” I reply almost immediately. When my mother gets into this kind of mood, she wants and expects only one answer from me. Just guess which one.

“Exactly! She is wrong! So why don’t you go to her and tell her that, because I can’t seem to knock any sense into her.”

“Stop bringing him into this!” my sister shouts. “You always do this every single time!”

“I only do this because you seem incapable of actually listening to me!” my mother shouts louder.

While all of this is going on, I’m meekly staring at the carpet, feeling just as useless and weak as my first-grader self. Nothing I do seems to please my sister or my mother, because when I try to appease both sides, it only gets them angrier. Ambivalence, you will be the downfall of me yet. I thumb around the iPod in my pocket, wishing to be transported back to better times, before all this senseless fighting started and when peace and quiet was actually achievable. The scene fades to black.

            When I come to, I’m no longer a 7^th grader, but now a 10^th grader. I’ve got on my generic Apple-brand headphones on, listening to the calmest and most soothing music I can find. I scroll down to my personal favorite, Modest Mouse, listening to the off-kilter yowls of Isaac Brock and the lo-fi goodness of the unconventionally tuned guitars. I’m currently listening to the purposefully slow and drawn-out song “Dramamine”, whose title and music theme really seems to fit my current state of mind, spaced out and barely conscious. It might be due to the fear and constant fidgeting that disturbed my already anguished sleep, but I think its because I’m trying to keep myself from realizing that I’m actually going to take the AP World exam in about five minutes. As the clock runs down and my fellow grim-faced sophomores enter the examination room, my self-denial no longer works, as I enter into the aux gym with them. Although feeling quite small and insignificant, I think to myself, “What the hell, think about this way, Back Reed” rationalizing to myself, “at least this is the first step towards college. Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all. In fact, this is definitely going to go well. This is going to be the first good step towards a long and eventual journey.” I close my eyes, hoping my self-delusions will somehow instill me with confidence.

            When I open my eyes, I’m now back to the laptop, once again typing away late into the night (almost 2 A.M.? Gosh, what am I, nocturnal?). As I look back to everything I’ve typed so far, it seems almost unbelievable just how much I could recall from just a few random stimuli both out of and in the memories. I quietly tell myself, “I guess this question wasn’t so hard to answer after all!” Hopefully, it’ll stay that way. 

"Tarzan Toddler" by Bruce Steppes

My first memory I can recall happened when my mom took me and my three sisters to Kings Dominion for a family day trip. While sitting in my car seat sucking on a pacifier, I was excitedly watching my six and nine year old sisters wrestle each other for their new "Bop It" toy. My oldest sister, who was eighteen at the time, was sitting in the passenger seat blasting her headphones. As a legal adult, I'm sure she had zero patience for her kid sisters. I frowned upon being confined in a car seat, but I never let a simple seat belt keep me from having fun.

I'll admit, I was a girl version of Tarzan, and the car was my jungle. I remember my mom assigning a job to one of my sisters to make sure I stayed put. I'm sure at three I tried negotiating something with whoever was in charge. Since I was the youngest of four girls, I wanted to do all the fun things my older sisters got to do. I still tried, and I was guilty of most of my escapes because I was the ultimate busy body.

I did not believe in being still, and the fact that I knew we were on our way to the theme park made my case even more severe. My mom was forced to constantly look through her rear view mirror to make sure I was in my car seat, instead of in the trunk somewhere.

After about three hours of a painful car ride, my mom pulled into the Kings Dominion parking lot. After we got situated, we headed towards the park to start the fun. Cotton candy, funnel cake, and candy apples swirled in the air, making me more excited. We had a blast riding on the amusement rides and taking pictures with kid cartoons.

Towards the end of the day, we headed to the lazy river. We got changed in our bathing suits and we each grabbed a water tube. My mom of course stoppped me in my tracks and exchanged my tube for a turtle floatie that was uncomfortably larger than I was. I wiggled my way into the river and sat there like a duck while my sisters were freely splashing around.

Even though I did not always get my way, I had a blast with my family. Overall, it was a really great day.

"I Remember" by Forrest Gump

I remember jumping off of the boxes in our living room while dressed as a red power ranger and activating my cool power rangers wristband. I remember my Dad and I using a cardboard box as our breakfast table for our last meal ever before we left Florida. My Dad had made pancakes and we both managed to share the box and finish them up. I remember gathering up all of our things and putting them on the U-Haul and then going to the airport to board the plane. I remember waving goodbye as I said all of my friend's names just as the plane took off to fly over to Davis, West Virginia.

I remember learning how to golf and ski in West Virginia. I remember my first snow. I remember my first blizzard, the snow was taller than me. I remember gathering sticks and knocking down branches to gather wood for the fire place. I remember my friend had ruined all of my Play-Doh because he left the drawer open. I remember having to wash my hands and take off my shoes after immediately entering my grandmother's house every single time.  I remember driving my little red Jeep around the house so many times that I started making tracks in an oval shape around the house. I remember the three huge turkeys that landed on our driveway on the day of Thanksgiving. I remember going to New York, New Mexico, and Connecticut to visit my family.

I remember getting into my first car accident, and hopefully my last. I remember feeling helpless and despair. I remember not knowing what to do at first because I was stunned. I remember the feeling of my heart beat rapidly and all of my senses kick in and intensify. I remember the extreme sense of anger when I thought that things were just not right and just not fair at all. I remember the sense of confusion and the urge to say that you made a huge mistake, what are you doing. I remember the horrible realization that I had to come to thinking I am going to her car and I need to do something about this. I remember feeling helpless when the insurance company claimed my car was totaled and beyond repair. I remember... 

"My First Memory" by Lola Lane

"What is your first memory?"

I hate this question. Does anyone really, truly know their first memory? Probably not. I have a lot of memories, but I couldn’t tell you my first. However, I have an answer to the “my first memory” question, so I don’t look lame at parties. I was around four, which I know doesn’t fit scientifically because apparently I was supposed to have my first memory by two, but, alas, my first remembered memory was at four. It was a dreary, rainy day. It must have been a Saturday, because my dad wasn’t working and my mom was. As my dad had to handle two crazy kids on a rainy day, he decided to take us to a movie. I remember we went to “Mom’s Apple Pies” first, and I got a smiley face cookie. This wasn’t just any cookie. This was the kind of cookie you bow down to. You see, when I was a child, my father wouldn’t buy as anything that was considered excessive. The answer to any cool toy, concession, or cookie was a solid “no”. So, you can see my excitement at being able to procure such a magnificent cookie.

I thought my life could not get any better, but then it did. My dad took us to the movies, the movies! It was the “Wizard of Oz”. I like to think that this is where my first memory kicked in. The colors in the movie were so vivid and pretty, I was fascinated. Specifically, I remember watching Dorothy just strutting her stuff, and then I remember an urge to eat my cookie. Once I started thinking about the cookie, I couldn’t stop. I had to find a way to eat it, without getting reprimanded. This wouldn’t have been THAT big of a deal if my father hadn’t told me to hide the cookie when going into the theater, as so it would not be confiscated from my gluttonous clutches. This was crucial; I hid that cookie well.

But now, I really wanted to eat the cookie, so very badly. I didn’t want to get caught, at all. I was a good kid, I knew the difference between right and wrong. I knew what happened on “Lizzie McGuire” when she gets in trouble; she gets a detention. This was much bigger than detention, though. This could mean jail, or worse. But the cookie was smiling at me. It looked so good and sunshine-y yellow. I still had the taste of vanilla with a hint of lemon in my mouth from the piece I had eaten before the movie started. I had to have it. 

So, I thought the only way I could get away with this horrible act, was to make sure not a soul saw me. I found my chance, and took it. I slowly lowered myself to the gross, grimy, floor that belonged to the theater. I couldn’t care less; I was in a safe haven to eat my cookie with a calm mind. When my dad saw me, I remember passing it off like I was hiding my eyes from the terrifying flying monkeys. I felt like such an outlaw, but that was outweighed by the delicious taste of victory, with just the slightest hint of lemon. I wish I could say that this experience helped me lead a life of being a cool kid who breaks all the rules, but it didn’t. Life moved on, I became a good kid, and this memory has always been identified as my first.