My Earliest Memory
My parents always joked that I have an impeccable memory and can remember the smallest details of whatever we are talking about. It’s true — when I was younger, I could clearly remember what you were wearing five years ago on a particular day, but unfortunately that ability diminished as I grew older. Now all my memories of Ukraine are dimmed and unclear, despite the fact that I am only 23 years old. Nonetheless, I still remember one of my earliest memories. It may not be as clear as it used to be, but it’s still there.
I remember being on a tiny wooden boat on a lake near my house back in Ukraine. It was a bright sunny day, and I was perhaps 2 or 3 years old. I remember seeing the tall grass on the shore by the boat and how stunningly green it was. My mom was holding me on her lap and my dad was on the other end of the boat, taking a picture of us with an old film camera. This picture is in our family album and I look like a tiny white potato.
Someone told me that when you think of a memory, you are only remembering the last time you thought of that memory. I refuse to believe that, but the fact that this memory is now a grey, bleak moment that’s hard to remember in full details is suggesting that this might be true.
