Memory Lane

I have quite a few memories of my very early childhood, and what's interesting to me is that when I think back to those events, I suppose the reason they decided to take up permanent residence in my memory bank is due to the fact that they are memories of an extreme nature -- either very happy memories, such as feeling intense safety and security as I was held in my mom's arms and rocked on her lap, or else very traumatic, such as being held underwater by my brother at the lake or falling onto a radiator and needing stitches. Unfortunately, it seems as if the latter memories often outweigh the former.

Today, two very separate (non) events occurred together which, when oddly slapped together, triggered a cloudy memory which I've come to realize actually had a pretty significant impact on who I am today. My kids made a colossal mess this morning, both in the living room and their bedroom, but more often than not extreme messes mean they have been playing wonderfully well together, which was the case today. They were angels, really, so I don't mind the mess. As I cleaned up the stack of 22 children's encyclopedias that Grace took off one of the bookshelves, I came across one of her hand-me-down dolls, complete with calico dress and matted hair. I picked up the doll and looked at it for a moment before I put it back in the miniature crib. Non-event #1.

This afternoon I had no choice but to tackle the dishes that had piled up, so I set about to washing. I popped one of my favorite CD's into the player -- Amy Grant's Rock of Ages -- and sang heartily away, flipping back and forth between melody and harmony. I love to sing, but I would never consider myself a soloist, or even a duetist (is that a word? Spell-check doesn't seem to like it). I'm more of a choral participant, where I can do what I love while hiding amongst the masses. There is definitely a part of me that wishes I could just grab a microphone and get up on a stage, singing away like a lark. But I wouldn't -- or at least if I ever did, I would have some major personal mountains to scale first (and even more major fallout after the fact). Fear.

That's when Non-Event #1 (doll) melded with Non-Event #2 (fear of public performing) and out came a very early childhood memory. I was about two years old, I would say -- not any older than that, and perhaps even younger because in this story, my size would be a factor. I was walking, and walking well, yet I was not old at all. We were at my grandparents' house for some family gathering, a detail which I can't remember yet doesn't really matter. My parents and grandparents, and I believe my aunt and uncle as well, were sitting in the living room. My oldest brother, Steve, took me into the spare bedroom where there were two dolls -- one quite large, named Mary (my mother's doll) and the other a bit smaller, named Anna (belonging to my aunt). I distinctly remember hearing muffled giggles from my brother, as well as a lot of whispering. Somewhere in the bedroom -- under the bed or in the closet -- was a suitcase, filled with clothing for the two dolls. Steve got out the suitcase, some whispering, pulled out some clothes, muffled giggles ...

I felt him nudge me in the back. "Go, go!" I walked out the bedroom door, me -- a little toddler -- into the living room where the adults were gathered, dressed from head to toe in doll's clothing. I remember the sudden ceasing of all chatter. I remember every pair of eyes turn in my direction. And I remember the laughter, the uproars, before my mom finally got up from the golden sofa to rescue her little girl and chastise her devil of a son (although I still remember her smile while doing so).

That was my first foray into what it's like to be the center of attention, to have all eyes on you. And instead of eating it up, and loving the attention, I think I was scarred. I hated it. I was beyond mortified. I was far, far to young to understand that they weren't laughing out of ridicule (or were they?). My goodness, how many times have I, as an adult, laughed at the antics of my own toddlers? But that event lodged itself with incredible clarity in my memory -- so much so that I wonder if it had/has something to do with my fear of the public eye.

People say that if you just do the thing you're afraid of a few times you'll get over it. Bah. I have a paralyzing phobia of heights, which still grips me no matter how many times I've been in a plane or climbed a ladder. Nature versus nurture? Who wins this round?

What about you? What early memories have lodged in your memory banks, perhaps playing a formative role in the grown-up you are today?