The car was blue and the sun was hot. Everything seemed a little fuzzy – Hazy.
I was sitting in the front seat. I could barely see over the dashboard and out the window. I couldn’t have been more than 3, maybe 4?
Nonna was driving and we were going somewhere. I didn’t know where. I remembered that Nonna always kept chocolate bars in the glove box… just for me. I was excited and I reached far, far over my lap to open the little box and see what was inside. It was there! A chocolate bar just for me! I was so excited.
I fiddled with the wrapper – tried to open it myself. I was distracted for a while. I looked up – I don’t know why. I probably wanted to ask Nonna to open the chocolate bar for me. But my excitement faded instantly. Out the window I could see the Food-for-Less – the one close to home. We were going home. Nonna was taking me home.
Fear, trepidation, anxiety – all replacing the excitement that coursed through my tiny body only moments before. I didn’t want to go home.
“Nonna! Don’t take me home! Let’s go back to you house! I want to stay at your house forever!”
“It’s okay, Love. You have to go home. Mommy and Daddy will miss you if you don’t go home. I wish you could stay with me too.”
“Mommy is mean. Daddy is mean. Don’t take me home.”
Big tears running down my little cheeks.
A little girl of 3 or 4… begging to not go home to her parents…. my earliest memory.
Written in response to the Daily Prompt
Bless your heart. I’m so sorry. When I read the Daily Prompt today, I thought to myself that it would have been better if they had asked us to write about a fond memory, rather than our first memory, because for some of us, it would have been much less painful. I pray the Lord blesses you and comforts you.
Love,
Cheryl
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Having a troubled childhood is the hardest. It fills you with so much fear of the past. But I can see that your filling up your life with much better memories. I hope that they get to the point where they erase everything bad that you remember.
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Yes, I agree. I am so afraid of being a bad parent because of how my parents treated me. I am also petrified of divorce; again, because of my parents…
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I never wanted to go home either.
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