An Early Memory

Last night, I caught a wild hair and started thinking about writing a book. I don't really know whether it would be semi-autobiographical, a series of essays, or what. But I had the title picked out... Sh!+ Town. It would be a book about where I grew up. I even had the cover designed. It would look like the proverbial flaming bag of poo on the neighbor's doorstep. The flames would partially envelop the bag, and in place of the first word of the title, there would be a hole burned in the bag, and you could "see" the word.

Next, I started rolling backward through time in my mind's eye. I zipped right past my adulthood and entered my teenage years, a couple of memories at a time. Suddenly I found myself in my early childhood... in a different city. Before reliving the memory, I briefly realized that I would have a difficult time writing Sh!+ Town because I wasn't born and raised there. In fact, I didn't move there until I was almost twelve.

That thought faded, and I was back in my early years. I must have been four or five. It was Christmas, and my younger brother and I had just received the coolest presents ever... one of those sit-in pedal-style cars. (They've now been replaced by the electrical version, which in all honesty I think is a little less cool than the cars we had to pedal.) One was a sports car... I think it was a Jaguar, but I can't remember for sure. The other was a firetruck, with a far sturdier build and removable ladders.

I sat in the sports car, thinking that it was the coolest thing ever. The doors even opened! I was just about to lay claim to the car, when I noticed that a door didn't work quite right. Enviously, I gazed at my brother in the still-perfect firetruck. I needed to convince him to trade with me. Though still brand new, and really cool, there was a flaw in the sports car, so I had to have that firetruck. I don't remember exactly how I managed to do it, but I convinced him to trade.

Fast-forward an undetermined period of time... I'm pedaling the firetruck around the neighborhood on the sidewalks. We lived in a trailer park, on a cul-de-sac road, not quite at the end. I remember a gentle incline on that road. The street was new black asphalt, and the sidewalks were perfect concrete. One of the ladders was missing from my firetruck, but I didn't really care. I only needed one ladder to rescue the ... well, who or whatever needed rescuing that day.

One of the interesting things is that I remember that Christmas in the first person. But when I see myself riding on the sidewalk, it's primarily in the third person. When I notice the ladder missing, I'm back in first person, looking over my right shoulder to where the ladder should be. But as I ride the firetruck, I see myself through today's eyes... the adult me is standing in the cul-de-sac, watching the younger me ride on the sidewalk without a care in the world... occasionally stopping, putting the ladder on something, climbing the three rungs and rescuing something.