My First Memory

I am in a swimming pool with my older sisters and dad. Sara and Amy are in matching swimsuits, one blue and one red, because everything was matching for the duo who just missed being Irish twins by one month. We are all smiling at Dad’s silly antics in the pool: splashing, throwing and handstands.

My mother is near us holding my baby brother. Her swimsuit is dry as is her hair. It’s a blue, floral pattern, and this will be the only time I see my mother in a bathing suit.

We walk back to our hotel rooms, dripping and barefoot, with towels so small, they’re barely covering our 6, 4, and 3 year-old bodies. And, then I see it. It’s red and white with a lever that reads, “PULL DOWN.” My mind ponders this calling as we walk.

Several hours later, I did it. I pulled down the lever after my curiosities kept my mind spinning with wonder. I wonder what would happen if I pull it down.

So, my second memory lies in pieces:

By myself.
The red lever.
The awful, screeching noise.
The white, lights flashing annoyingly.
My mom anxiously looking for me.
People running towards the stairs to exit.
A crowd of people gathering around blazing firetrucks.
My arms wrapped tightly around my father's neck. Fearful.
Hearing my dad tell the Chief, "Give her a scare."

One response to “My First Memory”

  1. Wow! You have relayed the feeling of being the curious six-year-old so well, as well as the consequences of that curiosity.

    Liked by 1 person

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