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I Remember

John W. Pinkerton


The other morning while I was contemplating my next great American novel, I was sidetracked by a squirrel.

Well, not literally: it was a memory of a squirrel…that bit me.  That certainly could explain a lot.  I was just a little kid, maybe four, at a zoo.  I couldn't resist sticking my finger in the squirrel cage---a mistake of course.  I haven't done that again.

That memory made me forget all about my planned novel. It got me to thinking about other early memories.

I'm not sure what my earliest memory is.  It could have been being scared by a green tractor coming down the road which I mistook for a monster bug.  My Grandpa Barron was there to reassure me…bless his heart.  That is possibly the earliest memory I can recall.  I think I was two or three.

My next memory was Grandpa's funeral.  I remember details.  It was very sad.  I can still see the dramatic late evening red sky at the cemetery.

Also at the same age, I recall flying over our house in a small plane accompanied by Dad and Mother waving at us from the yard.  It really didn't mean much to me, but I do remember it.

There's one more memory from this very early age.  I recall taking a bath with a female cousin.  It made an impression on me.

After perusing my memory, I've concluded that my memory cut into high gear around the age of four or five.  From that point forward, I remember just about everything.

I also recall sticking my finger in a live light socket when I was about five.  Don't do that.

I recall the fantabulous appearance of cream poured into a bowl of blackberries as it mixed with the dark berry juice. 

Also at the age of five, I had my first new car experience.  I remember examining the car seats made of woven nylon and the new car smell---what a great smell.  I don’t think new cars smell like this today.

Oh, yeah, where's my copy of my great American novel?