Who are you? Who am I? | Week 5

February | Early Years | Week 5 | 2/5/2023
Talk about your childhood - earliest memories 

"What is your first memory?", an interesting question, prompted to me from time to time by the occasional deep thinker. The first memory I have is walking along the pool deck at our house in Coral Springs, Florida. My brother and his friends were swimming. It's not at all surprising to me that my first memory is of the pool, considering I later became a year-round swimmer, lifeguard, and swim coach to kids at The University of Florida (a job that I still consider to be my favorite job of all time). I can remember the palm trees in the backyard and the thick humid air of south Florida. I couldn't tell you what the inside of the house even looked like, but I have a core memory, wrapped up in the 5 senses, of that pool. Funny how the brain retains some things and not others. Life was good then, when a hurricane would come through, the streets in the neighborhood would flood and all the kids would gather in black trash bags to walk around and play in the water. Simpler times.

As I reach deep into my cognitive reservoir, the memories begin to flood in around the time we moved to Jacksonville. Playing with my best friend Wilson who lived next door, starting soccer, biking to summer swim league, the arrival of a new brother, Drew, and the entrance into preschool where I got my first taste of the world. If consciousness was a series of switches, then around 4 and 9/12 months, my first one flipped. 

As I've gotten older and heard a plethora of stories from counterparts, I've found it commonplace to reflect on my childhood with fondness and gratitude. I feel a tremendous sense of relief for the good fortune of my childhood, because I've seen the result of its antithesis in others. As a necessary aside, to me it was fortune, but in actuality, it was the product of hard work, dedication, commitment, restraint and sacrifice on the part of my parents that brought me what I would describe as good fortune decades later. And yes, I'm speaking of all my childhood, but in particular ages 0-5. Recently, with my veracious appetite for psychology non-fiction, from authors like Gabor Mate and Warren Farrell, it's become increasingly clear that much of the suffering one can inflict on a child, is during this window of time. I had no lack of affection, no lack of attention, no abandonment, no conflict, no creepy aunt or uncle, no trauma. My father let me rest in his lap. My mother read to me. We ate dinner together every night as a family. And they listened to me talk with enthusiasm, feigned or otherwise. When I entered kindergarten at age 5, I was slightly introverted and perhaps a bit Type A, but properly socialized, confident, well-behaved, and well-adjusted, by none of my own effort. Thank you Mom and Dad. I'm eternally grateful, and I hope to learn from your actions in the years to come as I attempt a similar feat.