The Forgotten Memory

When you are the youngest child, you spend quite a bit of time hearing stories of things that happened before you were born and also stories of things that happened when your memory was still working out what to hang onto and what to discard and for whatever reason my brain chose to discard this one. 

I was an odd child, there is just no getting away from that.  I was small and rake thin but had the drive of an energizer bunny.  Had I been born when Ritalin was being used to curb small children, I suspect someone would have tried to convince my parents that it might be just the thing for Rachel.  I am grateful that never happened.  It’s possible that I might have paid more attention in class but I also suspect that my mind would not have gone so easily to the places that gave me and continue to give me pure joy. 

Mama tells me that she always felt like a terrible mother because she actually quite enjoyed it when I was sick as a small child because it’s the only time I would happily sit on her lap and consent to being cuddled for more than a minute.  Usually, I had things to do and places to be.

I am also told that a family friend once watched me at play and said to Mama “I am sure there are moments when both her feet are off the ground at the same time because she moves so fast”.   A few years ago, I brought a lovely painting of a wee girl doing exactly that and it’s one of my favorite possessions because it reminds me of who I was and who I am still capable of being.

OK so back to the forgotten memory - like all good fact checkers before me the story has been verified with multiple witnesses.  People remembered it because they were both amused by and fascinated at the odd response from such a young child.

I am told I was about three or four years old and I am not sure we do this so much anymore but there was a “patter” of questions that grown-ups would ask small children so that they felt like they had made a “connection” with said child.  It went something like this “what is your name?”, “how old are you?” and finally “what would you like to be when you grow up?”

There is nothing wrong with these questions but apparently, I was a bit “over” them and had decided to get creative.  Some random adult asked the questions and when I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I replied with - “I want to be a lamp!”. 

Whoever it was that asked the question was mortified by my response.  It was followed by a lengthy awkward silence while people scrambled for what to say that could possible segway off that startling pronouncement.

Over the years this story became a family staple which was produced from time to time and was told and retold to many and so like many youngest children before me it became a “memory” that was actually never that at all.  The older Rachel has no recollection of that event but I say to my younger self “you go girl” because it was both funny and prophetic all at the same time.

I have had many different shades and bulbs over the years, I've even tried to sever my connection to the grid.  I am sure the wiring is beginning to fray badly but when it comes down to it – I still want to be a lamp!