My First Memory

Cognitive psychologists have proven that the mind doesn't have a videotape (or cassette, or hard drive, or flash drive, etc) for a memory storage device. Memories aren't retrieved and replayed by finding the appropriate media holder and hitting the play button so we can watch the memory play out in perfect clarity. Memories are retrieved by cues, which can be triggered by a whole slew of things, and these cues sometimes pick up the wrong disc or whatever metaphor I'm using and the play button isn't really a play button; it's more of getting it all thrown at you at once button. This leads to misremembering events, places, things, and can even lead to wholly concocted memories that never happened.

This preface isn't to discredit all of my entries. No, instead it's meant to cast into doubt the veracity of this one. But it's my memory. It's imperfect (yet probably better than yours) but it's mine.

1987. I am standing in the living room of our house. Only, I wasn't sure it was a living room or a house. That was because I hadn't fully grasped the concept yet. I just knew I was safe, wasn't cold, wasn't hungry. I stood standing for a bit and I looked around. I recall the light blue carpet we had then. Looked at the stairs. Looked at the floor. Looked up at the ceiling. All of these particular objects I'm sure I've seen before: what was to my side, what was under me, and what was above me. I saw the door to outside, only again, wasn't sure of the concept of doors, really, and outside. I knew something was beyond the portal. I then spoke to myself, "I'm here."

My next memory doesn't come for awhile: 1988. I can't remember the basis of knowing it was 1987 when I experienced this and remembered it. It was all very surreal.