Earliest Memory

Never too old to start your memoir even if you've forgotten half your life. Begin with your earliest memory. Mine is pretty paltry. But it can stand alone, however wobbly.

I remember listening to my mother cry. I understood later that my father was away in the war and she was afraid for him. We lived in New York City and our address was 1221 York Avenue, but I didn’t know that then. The apartment building had a playground in the back with swings. I remember knowing which window was part of where we lived, and I could yell up to my mother if I wanted to come home. I remember that when I yelled it sounded like mom-may, not mommy. Such a weird detail to remember when so much else is forgotten.

The swings were heavy and hung on long chains with wooden seats. I was little and couldn’t pump very well, and one time a girl taller than me jumped up on the swing, one foot on either side of me, and got us going so fast and so high I was afraid we would fly right off into the sky. I cried for her to stop but she just kept pumping. It was very scary. Later it turned out the child was deaf. I also remember there was a woman in the building who was constantly yelling. I don’t think I ever saw her. My mother called her an old crosspatch. I tried to imagine how a live person could be made out of a quilt. I must have mixed up patchwork with crosspatch. I imagined her frowning.

That’s the extent of what I remember of the years before my father came home. I don’t even remember that. I’m surprised at how meager my memory is. I don’t remember what we ate, or how many rooms we lived in, what any of it looked like, or if I had any friends. I don’t remember anything about my baby sister. In fact the only memory I have of my life was that one window and my view of it from the swing. And Old Crosspatch. I have never forgotten her.

I’m 83 years old. What can I learn about who I became from this memory? I’m curious, and curious keeps me interested. Who were you, I wonder. You were alone, is what I take from this. Why did my memory fasten on these few details? What isn’t here? I could want to remember if I tried to comfort my mother? But I can’t, I don’t remember. I think I just stood there not knowing how.