First Memory #NaBloPoMo

I tend to have a faulty memory. Either I am totally blank on something... as in certain childhood or college stories that when people tell them, I go, "Was I there for that?" and they assure me I was (no, drugs were never involved... I just have a faulty memory!).

OR, I tend to aggrandize the memory... as in those French Fries in New Haven that were SOOOOO GOOOOOD that I dragged my husband around the city trying to find the place....and when we did... they were, well... not bad, but... just okay. And probably not worth the hour drive. Or how my mom's coloring was SOOOOO AWESOME, and then when I pulled out her Marta story pictures as an adult to brag about it, I saw she'd basically just traced the outside of the pictures with marker and lightly shaded the insides.

So... I found this prompt to talk about my first memory. And I have to admit, that is hard because I have hardly any memories from my early childhood. My memories become more consistent around Grade 7. Scary, right? How many of you vividly remember the elementary years? Because I have probably ONE distinctive memory from each year. And that's it.

I say all that to warn you. My very first memory then, may be a complete fabrication, a retelling of what someone told me happened, a conglomeration of separate memories... or it might actually be true. And, you know what? I suspect this makes me no different than most memoir writers!

My first memory is around age four. I was living in Wethersfield. There was a little Portuguese girl that lived next door. For some reason she had given me this pretty green embroidered apron. As a gift I thought. Apparently, she thought she was just letting me borrow it. I'm not sure how many days passed, but ... she asked for it back. I told her, no, you can't be an Indian giver! (Was I being mean or just repeating something I'd overheard? I'm not sure). And I kept that apron.

We moved shortly thereafter, and I never remember seeing her again. I remember playing with that apron often as a child in my new home. At least, I think I remember... but you know what I don't remember? I don't remember her reaction when I told her I wouldn't give the apron back. Odd.

What do you think about first memories? Are they fuzzy for you? Clear? What's yours?