Thirty Day Writing Challenge, Day Two: Your Earliest Memory

Continuing on with the 30 Day Writing Challenge .....

My Earliest Memory

I can't actually extract my "earliest" memory. I have several memory fragments from the same general time frame, but I really couldn't tell you which one is "the oldest". So, I'm going to bore you with a few of them.

One is actually a memory of a memory. I was about 4 or 5 years old, and our family was visiting someone in the city. I don't remember for sure who it was, but it was probably my Uncle Clyde. We were in the backyard, and I remember noticing the attached sunrooms behind the four-family flat next door. I remember saying that we used to live in a house that had one of those sunrooms. My parents were quite surprised at that pronouncement, because although we had lived in a flat like that when I was an infant, we had moved out before my second birthday. So, although I no longer remember the flat that we lived in when I was a year old, apparently I did retain that memory for at least a few years.

When I was not quite two years old, we moved from the city to a house in a small semi-rural area about 15 miles from the city, an unincorporated village called Horine. We lived there for about 2 years, maybe 3. My earliest actual memories take place there.

We had a propane tank along side the house, that fueled our furnace and stove. I remember getting spanked for using my tricycle as a step-stool to climb on top of it. More than once. I was already exhibiting the stubborn streak that has been my hallmark all my life!

We had a German Shepherd mix named King. He lived in a flat-roofed doghouse in our back yard, and I would ride him like a pony. I still miss my dog, more than 50 years later.

Me and King in Horine MO, c.1963

We had a gravel and stone driveway. I still have a scar on the crown of my head from when I was throwing rocks straight up in the air. My next-door friend and I were seeing who could throw the highest, and mine came down and bopped me on top of the head. Although not enough to require stitches, like all scalp wounds it bled like a stuck pig, scared the tar out of me, and left a scar that is still visible.

The most horrific memory I have is the day the car fell on my dad. He was working on the muffler, with the car held up with just a bumper jack. Something caused the jack to slip, and the car came down, trapping my father underneath. I remember my mom, who had witnessed the accident through the kitchen window, running outside screaming for help. A couple neighbors helped get the car off of him while we waited for the ambulance. He suffered several broken ribs, a broken clavicle, a cracked sternum, and some internal injuries. He was in the hospital for quite awhile, and when I was finally allowed to visit him, all I could see was plaster casts.

One more memory from Horine, and I'll call it a day and leave you be, faithful reader. It was February, 1963. All of a sudden there was a lot of frantic running around, getting bundled into the car, dad driving like a bat out of hell, running into the hospital, then dad driving me to my aunt's house nearby, and leaving again like a mad dervish. I was so confused and upset that my aunt, whom I normally adored, couldn't keep me calmed down. It all was resolved the next day, when I met my brand new sister for the very first time.

Those were the days, my friend. I thought they'd never end!

God bless

Ron and the Debster