Saturday, November 22, 2008
I spent my first four years in Schenectady, New York, but owing to the fact that I was developing basic motor skills and learning language I don't have too many memories of being there. My very first memory is being at my babysitter's house, Grandma Wetzel (not my real grandma, but like a real grandma), and talking on the phone with my dad, and him telling me I had a baby sister. I promptly burst into tears, mostly from confusion, and perhaps from some deep understanding that things would never be the same. I got over it, and now adore my sis of course! Sorry about the rude welcome, though, buddy.
My other memories are sort of strange, Lynchian disembodied strands. I remember my mom being mad and me picking her flowers in the backyard. I remember standing at the top of the staircase and dropping my cat Timmy down to the bottom. I did that every night after we had snuggled in bed for a while. I don't do that any more. It turns out it's not very nice for the cat!
I also remember eating dinner with my sister and us putting ketchup on our noses and proclaiming ourselves Rudolph. I remember watching my sister eat pieces of paper ripped from a Charlie Brown book, and then getting in trouble for not stopping her. In a stunningly accurate prediction of my future self-conception, the book was called Everything I Do Makes Me Feel Guilty. One thing I don't remember was that I used to go outside with a bucket of water and a paint brush and paint tree trunks, but I apparently enjoyed hours of that. To which I say, was I offered no toys or did I simply reject them in favor of an unsatisfying and pointless activity?
Thus, you see that the early formative years of my life were creepy and I'm lucky to have developed relatively normal interests and hobbies. Well, I still bust out that ketchup thing when dinner party conversation lags. I find it works much better than sharing the Timmy story.