Mother has given us all an assignment to write down our life histories or something like that. I am not 100% certain of what exactly I am supposed to do but I think we are supposed to write down memories we have from our early years first. This was actually due to her on Sunday, I think. I completely forgot about it. Sorry mom.
So anyway, the early years. This could take a while.
I have memories not of my own but of stories that I was told about myself. I also have my own memories but will start with the others first. I always thought it was funny when dad would talk about how I urinated on the doctor when I was born. He would always say that when I came out I said "Air!" and immediately peed. It was a proud moment for me. I felt special like I had done something no one else had ever done. Then I had children of my own and was urinated on more than once whilst changing a diaper and I realized that I was not alone, there are many who feel a little bit of a breeze down low and suddenly must pee. Anyhow, that is perhaps a memory of the earliest thing that I did.
Following my skills as a urinator came my destructive skills. I somehow managed to break my crib as wee little one. Apparently I would stand up and hold the side of the crib and jump up and down so ferociously that the crib couldn't take it. Where was OSHA back in those days? Along those lines I was also a climber and liked to get around.
I am the second of eight children. My older brother Jim must have really loved having a younger brother. I am sure to have assisted in some small way to his artistic talents. When I was but a child he painted me black. Clearly any who have seen my farmers tan or my white legs after winter know that it didn't stick. Oh I guess there is also the haircut. Today I have not problem with a buzz cut. It is my worst case scenario hair cut and I have no problem with it which is why of often cut my own hair. I don't know that it was my first hair cut as a child or what but I have been told several times about getting a hair cut, being furious and wearing a beanie for quite some time afterwards.
That's pretty much all I can remember from the stories I was told about myself. My earliest memory all on my own came the day I broke my leg at the family cabin at Tahoe. I was hanging out with Jim on the back deck and jumping off to the ground. It wasn't a high jump by any means, just a small one from what I can remember. Anyhow, I jumped and something went wrong. My leg didn't want to work any longer. Jim must have run and got dad and when he came he told me to get up and walk. I think he put me on my feet and tried to get me going. I couldn't. After I had a nap they took me to the hospital and sure enough, it was broken. I was three years old.
Also at three years old I taught myself how to ride a bike - no training wheels. I must have seen Jim ride a bike or other kids in the neighborhood. I'm pretty sure we lived on Woodcrest Lane in Carson City. The bike was yellow and I would get on it in the garage and would practice and practice until I had it down. I would ride in tight circles in the garage. After that biking was something I loved doing. I don't know how old I was but I remember riding around the block from Woodcrest Lane, past a house on the corner that had a decorative wood bridge in the front yard. Anyway, I got to where I could do that with no hands. I also liked to take the bike to the field behind Seeliger Elementary School and ride on the bike track that had been built there. I was all about jumping tires like the bigger boys. I also remember quite clearly the day I was with my cousin Carrie, who was visiting, and we were on the path that cut through the field and to the back of the school. Just off that path was a big jump that I had to go off. The bike I was on at the time was green and had a broken pedal. There was just a medal rod sticking out and the rest of the pedal was gone. I went off the jump, my foot slipped off the rod and I landed the jump awkwardly. Awkwardly, that is a good word for it as the medal rod went into my leg. I left the bike and Carrie and ran all the way home. That was all before I was 7 as we moved during my second year of first grade.
Yes, that is right, two years of first grade. What happened was I went through Kindergarten and didn't say a word the entire year. I was a skosh on the shy side. So they put me in a special two year first grade class. It was great I guess. I had Mrs. May for my teacher. Interestingly when we moved back to Carson City in my Junior year of High School I met three of my friends from that class. Good times.
Life was good. I had much to be grateful for. I will continue with another segment of these early years but I am worn out tonight and need to sleep. There are some good things to come like cutting my head open, buying my first album, taking the long walk home, baptism and my first pocket knife - there is a lot to remember and record. I'm sure to have more memories come to my mind that must be shared...
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