These days, my memories are few and far between. From yesterday, I remember that my khaki capris were hanging over my laundry basket and that’s it. I don’t know where I went or what I did or who I saw. I’m not even sure what day it is. Today, whatever day it is (well, by now I’ve checked, and it’s Tuesday) I… my BSS wore pink nail polish. Looking around the room, I see one of my elephants and so I know I’ve been sewing. I don’t know if it was hot, or if it rained. I don’t know what I did at speech. Fuzzy; it’s all just fuzzy.
But there are some early memories that I hold onto. And, now that my thoughts and memories are becoming so fuzzy and confusing, I hold onto them even tighter.
I can remember being four years old and sitting in the back of the car on my booster seat in the blue minivan we had. I was wondering, to my four-year-old self, whether a person can be born to do something that isn’t natural. For example, can a person be born to drive? Or are people only born to do things that are part of this natural world? I puzzled on that for the longest time.
And, even further back, I found my answer.
I was still in a crib. Since I moved into a toddler bed upon our move to Georgia when I was 13 months old, that means I was probably around a year when this happened. I had a dream in which I was a baby boy and my name was Ashley. I knew that was my name because, on the wall to the right of my crib, centered over its side, was a blue-with-white-polka-dot, quilted sign that said Ashley. I can still see that sign in my mind’s eye. I woke up and saw the clowns on the bottom of my crib. There, the memory ends.
Now, I know a person can’t be born knowing how to read, but if I was able to recognize words at just about a year old… well, I’d say that a person can be born or created to interact with the world via written and typed words, wouldn’t you?
And so I was. And so I am.