I feel like I have spent a disproportionate part of my life waiting. I remember, when I was in high school, waiting on my front porch for a friend to pick me up to go to a party. This was before cell phones and I had no way to get in touch with him. I must have waited three hours before I gave it up. The next day, he told me he forgot he was supposed to come and get me and that I missed a good party.
When I was even younger, My mother used to send me down to the corner bar to fetch my dad home for supper. He would always buy me a Coke and a bag of peanuts and have a few more beers with his buddies. I never liked the place and I knew that my mother would be mad if we took too log getting back, I was anxious and squirmed the whole time, waiting on my father. It was a tremendous burden for a little boy.
I remember in high school, sitting in the cafeteria waiting for school to start. Then sitting in class waiting for school to be over. I remember boring jobs and waiting for the day to end. And, as a child, the endless wait leading up to Christmas. I've waited in the zig-zag lines at Disney and I've waited in lobbies on customers. I've waited on catalog orders to be delivered and on pretty women to say yes. And I've spent hours on hold waiting on computer tech support.
While I was thinking back on all of this, I discovered something about my self and I wonder if it is true about you, as well.
My very first memory; my first moment of clarity, is of me waiting. I must have been four or five years old at the time. We lived in Rocky River, a suburb of Cleveland, in a large frame house where my father rented the upper apartment. An older couple lived downstairs. Next to the house was a gravel driveway then a broad grassy side yard. I remember lilac trees, the air was heavy with their scent. And I was playing in the lower branches of a fairly young maple tree. The sun was low in the sky, turning it a dusty red, and I kept looking down the driveway towards the quiet street. Waiting.
I don't know who or what I was waiting for, but that is my very first memory. And I began to wonder if there is any psychological or life altering connection between how people view life and their earliest memories? Or is it the other way around?
What I do know is that, in my memory, I was by my self and waiting on something. And throughout my life, I have always viewed myself as a loner. An outsider. And waiting for something to happen. This may be typical or may define my personal perspective. I don't know.
So, in the interest of better understanding, I'd like to hear from you. What is your earliest or first memory and has it in any way shaped you? Or was it just a random memory with no significance? You can respond by using the comment link below.
If I get enough responses I'll share the results in a future blog. Thanks for reading.
1 comment:
I remember waiting on the porch for my pop pop to come out and take me to the quick mart to buy a lottery ticket (he always said I was good luck). There was a little boy across the alley waiting on his porch, too. We waved at each other. My pop pop came out and took my hand and we started walking to the car. I looked up at him and asked him "do you know red light means stop and green means go?" He smiled down at me and said "really?" That's all, not very exciting... but I remember it like it just happened. I could see the little boy, exactly how he looked, and I could remember looking down at my feet and playing in the gravel on the concrete steps. I remeber just the way my pop pop smiled at me... but I don't remember anything before it or after it.
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