First memory

So, I've been reminiscing about all different times in life lately. I remembered I had written a paper about one of my very first memories of my life...

Outside was black and loud with thunder. Leaves were shaking mightily and falling from their branches that were dancing frantically in the wind. The swing Mom had pushed me in earlier that afternoon was now wrapped and tangled around the big tree it hung from. Trying to distract us from the rain and thunder noises, Mom helped David and I get cozy inside and begin baking brownies.
Even though I was only three years old, I already wanted to practice my home-making skills. Mom cooked dinner and dessert every night, ready for dad when he returned home from work. Anytime mom was baking, I was her little chef. As the storm stirred outside, the three of us stirred the chocolate mix in a big, glass bowl. I would always find a way to make the food into some masterpiece of art. The chocolate piles were mountains, dusted with sugary snow. The water poured in was a stream running around the mountain, as huge yellow boulders, the egg yolks, rose up out of the water. Smashing the chocolate mountains, squishing the eggs, and pouring in all the ingredients, everyone was anticipating a sweet treat that night.
As mom began to mix my mountain masterpiece into a smooth russet dessert, I wanted a turn! Mom handed me the fork. However, instead of putting it in my hand, she just dropped it. Or so I thought. I looked up. Mom had disappeared! Suddenly, I heard a groaning sound coming from the opposite side of the kitchen. Holding her hands to her head, Mom was sitting up against the refrigerator. She looked as if she had just gotten out of bed, eyes blinking and hair in disarray. Lightning had traveled through the phone line and hit the medal fork she was passing to me, throwing her completely across the room! If she had passed the metal utensil to me just one second earlier, I would have been flung across the room.
The rest of that evening, I would not leave Mom’s side. In fact, I didn’t want to get out of her lap. At one point, I had to get up so that she could unplug a tv and a lamp chord. Her hand shook and trembled, barely able to stop long enough to jerk the chord out of the socket. Staying up several hours past my normal bedtime would usually be fun for a three year old, but not tonight. I stayed curled up in Mom’s lap, finally drifting to sleep.
Awaking the next morning safe and snuggled in my soft bed, the storm was over. My family walked outside to examine the damage. We gathered a few branches that had fallen from the tree in the backyard and put them in a pile. Then, we untangled the swing from around the tree. We probably had a lot of shingles slide off the roof too, but I do not remember. As a three year old, knowing Mom was ok and my backyard play area was back to normal meant I would be ok. However, at twenty-two years old now, I still have not forgotten my first storm.

So, what is YOUR first memory in life? And what is your first memory of ME?

**Leslie**