My earliest memory is actually almost the memory of a memory: my fifth grade teacher had us write the story of our earliest memories, and I've remembered what I wrote even as the memory itself became less and less vivid. I was three years old sitting behind my mother on her bike as she sped down the steep hills of our neighborhood, and it was terrifying. She went so fast, and all I could do was watch helplessly as she whizzed around corners and parked cars. I still remember the images and feel of it a little, but I know that when I first wrote the story it was crystal clear. I've often thought about that change and what it might imply about memory in general.
Flash forward to two days ago. While sorting through boxes of old papers, I actually found the fifth grade story itself. It was almost exactly as I remembered it, except for one crucial change: I wasn't scared at all. The story said a lot about how exciting it was, but there wasn't the slightest suggestion of fear or helplessness. Now I really want to know what happened (and when) to transform that memory from positive to negative. (For that matter, I want to know when I went from enjoying that sort of thrill to disliking it. And I wonder if the two are related.)
Flash forward to two days ago. While sorting through boxes of old papers, I actually found the fifth grade story itself. It was almost exactly as I remembered it, except for one crucial change: I wasn't scared at all. The story said a lot about how exciting it was, but there wasn't the slightest suggestion of fear or helplessness. Now I really want to know what happened (and when) to transform that memory from positive to negative. (For that matter, I want to know when I went from enjoying that sort of thrill to disliking it. And I wonder if the two are related.)
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