the first day I remember

I wrote this up once already, years ago, but I can’t find it. Probably just as well. The only thing outstanding about this day in my personal history is I remember it. When people ask, “what is your first memory?” This is it for me.

It’s the day of my 4th birthday. I’m in my parent’s bedroom, sitting on their bed. My feet are propped as high as I can get them up on my dad’s dresser. I don’t remember him being there, or my sister, just mom. She’s getting something out of her bedside table, but I only see it out of my peripheral vision because I’m trying to climb up the side of the dresser with my feet, hands braced behind me on the bed. My mom asks, “how does it feel to be four?”

And that’s when it happens. A tree doesn’t come crashing through the house, there’s no thunder, no anything. All of the objects in the room, and the position of its two occupants, stays the same. The question confuses me, because it’s abstract and I’m 4 years old. How could anything feel different? It’s just another day and it was only yesterday a few hours ago. So what happened?

I repeated the question, “how does it feel to be four?” In my head. I heard myself say it in there. I said it a second time to make sure the effect would be the same and it was. My inner dialogue began and it was like a new toy. I could say things without saying things. I had an inner life and it made me feel giddy. I don’t remember anything else about that day, not the cake or the party or the gifts. From that point on though any memory I do have is narrated, is a memory of what my inner dialogue was.