Ms. Gekko has a post up asking about our very first memory. While I have flashes of images from when I was very young, I think the first complete memory I have is of an event that happened when I was maybe four years old (PJ, I'm sure you can verify or correct this!). Remembering this, er, memory has brought me great joy, so I thought I'd share it with you so that it may bring you great joy as well.
We lived in a small house on a dead-end street in Lansing, Michigan. Because of the cul-de-sac, the cars passing our house were never going very fast. I'm not quite sure how I got out, but I was wandering around in the front yard like a puppy. Every so often a car would pass and I'd stop and watch it go by.
Then I decided it would be a really good idea to throw a rock at a car.
I found a big rock, picked it up with two hands, and stood at the edge of our property, watiting for the next car to come by. After an eternity, a car finally turned onto our street. I waited patiently, right at the side of the road. Seeing me standing there, the driver slowed down as he passed. I lifted the rock up over my head and let it fly with both my hands.
Boom! The rock hit the passenger door, and I started giggling. The car stopped and the driver got out, just as my mom came running out of the house thinking I'd been hit.
"What happened?" she asked.
"He threw a rock at my car!" the guy said.
She asked me if I threw the rock at his door (which dented it, btw). Yes, I said, and giggled some more.
I can't remember anything else that happened during the next two years of my life.
But I'm still giggling about that rock.
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