It Really Does Fly.

We’re quickly approaching the Hurricane’s second birthday as I’m continuing to pack up his babyhood and experiencing all the time flying clichés first hand. When last night I ran across this little idea in superhero journal about timelining your first memories. And I realized that everything that's been so monumentally real to us over the last years--while I've been stretched and pulled and changed so thoroughly that I can't really remember the me of '05 or '95 or '85 or '75--will not be deposited in the Hurricane's cognitive and conscious memory bank . And that's hard to believe. Because so much has happened in this two-year, all-nighter boot camp. And the Hurricane will remember none of it. It's true that I can’t wait to for him to make some memories. And I really can't wait to hear what he reports 36 years from now. But in the mean time, here's my version.

The First Five Memories I Have.

Age 3: One early morning, it was extremely cold outside. It was probably January, and I was suffering a bit from a sinus thing. I hawked up a giant loogie and proceeded to swallow it. Then it occurred to me. That was what they were talking about in the "big church" I'd recently attended. That was sin. I had just swallowed sin, so it would never be a pesky bother to all humanity ever again. I had gotten rid of it. I triumphantly explained the fact that I had conquered sin to my father. Because I honestly thought sin was snot. I have no idea why I thought this would be so.

Age 4: I went to see Elvis in concert with my parents. I didn’t really get who he was or what was going on but I knew every song. I kept telling my mom how much I loved his chicken suit. She finally figured out I thought the Eagle on the back of his Nudie Suit was a chicken. For weeks afterward, I told people I went to see the chicken man.

Age 5: One day I learned how to open a package of individually wrapped crackers at school. I felt extremely talented that I’d figured this out by myself. I was obviously gifted.

Age 6: There was no doubt that I was related to Princess Leia. So the Padrino (The Hurricane's godfather) and I played Star Wars on our monkey bar spaceship at recess. To be ready for the alliance's call. Of course, as a result, I needed to wear my hair in double buns to school everyday. My mom was thrilled about this development.

Age 7: Wrote my first book about The Littles, tiny people that lived in my lunchbox. Loved my idea and was convinced I’d be the youngest author in the world. A few months later, I discovered that a book called The Littles had already been published by John Peterson eleven years before. I was seriously annoyed that he had stolen my idea.

Age 8: Went to camp for three weeks in the heat of the summer, while my mom was at the height of her pregnancy with my younger sister. It all makes sense to me now. But at the time, I was really only concerned about the daddy long-legs spiders in the showers. So I didn’t shower for three weeks. In August. In Texas. But I swam every day, so I thought that counted. It didn’t.

When do your memories start?