Memory Monday

They tell me...

They tell me I was the first in the family to touch Argentine soil, I was only 18 months old.

They tell me our first home was the back part of a long narrow house belonging to a doctor who lived in the front apartment. It had a good-sized walled-in back yard with palm trees and flower beds edged by bricks turned on their side so as to form a jagged zig-zag border. I know this well because one day I ran chasing little chicks, fell on one of those brick corners and gashed my forehead.

Mother sewed or knit all my clothes: dresses and sweater, even a woolen coat and matching hat, turquoise trimmed in brown velvet.
My daddy built much of the furniture himself and made special toys for me: a little wagon full of blocks, a pull-along ducky, a rocking horse; a desk and bench; a blackboard; a sandbox, a doll buggy for my third birthday, and more. I was loved and spoiled as only a firstborn can be.

They tell me that one day they found me naked, sitting on the side of the sandbox, my clothes lying neatly beside me. Was I too warm, enjoying the sunshine or the feel of the sand on my bare skin?

Two years later, the first of four brothers was born. We had to travel by bus to a city two hours away and wait for baby to arrive.

They tell me that all the way there I was making noises. I don’t know what kind of sounds, but when asked why, I said, “Because I am a noise machine.” Was it my child- imagination, nervous excitement, boredom, or was I simply out to annoy my fellow passengers? I don’t know. It happened over 60 years ago.

They tell me that I gave my heart to Jesus when Miss Krieger prayed with me. That may be true, but of all the memories the one that hasn’t faded is of Miss Hebe explaining that when I asked Jesus to come into my life, he came in to stay and be with me forever. That’s when I understood that I didn’t need to invite him over and over again. Now I enjoy his constant company, like it says in the Bible “…eat with him, and he with me.” (Revelation 3:20)

They tell me these things.

They are my parents, the photos, the letters, and my vague memories.

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BTW, this was the first assignment for my online course: Earliest Memories. I have revised it some since then and added photos. Again, feel free to critique.