As I come to the second day of the 30 Day Writing Challenge
I am forced to dig deep into my mind. The challenge today is to write on the
topic of my earliest memory. Later this fall I will turn sixty-years old and at
this point in my life I struggle to remember how to get back home at night. My
mind is filled with clutter. I have far too many passwords and logins that I
have to recall as my day goes on. Yet the closer I get to death the more
maudlin I seem to get and I find myself looking back into my past on a regular
basis. I have become my grandpa and my dad as I long for the “good ole days”.
Yet just this past week I was recalling what I believe might be my earliest
memory. It seems like the easiest memories to recall and maybe the hardest to
forget, are the moments of my life that carried the heaviest emotions.
On this day the farthest back I can go in the recesses of my
memory is my first day of Kindergarten. It was a day filled with emotion. It
was a day filled with fear. It was I day I don’t expect I will ever forget.
Due to my birthday falling late in October I was held back
from starting school until I was just two months from turning six. This would
work out well for me academically speaking, as it seemed I was always a step or
two ahead of most kids. My sister had actually taught me to read before I
attended school and I was told I actually used to read the newspaper at five
years old. But in terms of physical development it didn’t give me any
advantage; I was the smallest kid to show up that day for our first day of
school and I would remain the smallest kid for most of my days as a student.
So there I was this little skinny kid showing up for his
first day of school. Was I scared? No, no way; I was terrified. But if memory
serves me well my mom was in worse shape than I was. I remember how badly I
wanted to cry, but I had been taught that boys do not cry. Crying just wasn’t
allowed according to my dad, so I remember fighting hard to keep those tears
in. My mom did not follow that rule. I’m pretty sure the mom’s were instructed
to make the break quick and told that it would all be ok, but I know she was
crying as she left me to the wolves.
Upon arrival inside the classroom I met my teacher as well
as the rest of the class. I have two vivid memories of that moment. First of
all my teacher was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen during my short life. I
still remember her name; Miss Swofford. I was in love with her the entire year
and I also remember how confusing that felt. My mom was my whole world when it
came to the female domain but suddenly I realized there was more to women than
motherly concern and love.
The second vivid memory of that day was that I was now in
class with the biggest and meanest looking kid I’d ever seen. His name was Brad
and the name fit. He was about twice my size, sported a flat top haircut, and
looked like he had to be a future Marine Corps drill sergeant. But apparently
his dad has failed to get the message across that boys don’t cry. He was
throwing a screaming, crying fit. He wanted his mommy.
So I learned something important that day. They say the
bigger they are the harder they fall. Brad proved that out. I learned that day
that size doesn’t matter. Big guys hurt and suffer as much as little guys.
Little guys just gotta suck it up and take the pain sometimes. Brad and I would
become friends during kindergarten and he was never a threat to me, though
there would be plenty of bigger kids along my journey through school who would
try and intimidate me. Brad ruined that for them. Whenever I faced a bully I
would remember that day and see past the size of the enemy knowing they were
mommy’s boys just like the rest of us. Thanks Brad, wherever you are today.
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