Who's asking: Sally Gawne
Memory's a funny thing, and easily manipulated. Stories get told so often that the story becomes the reality, even if it didn't happen exactly that way.
I have memories of images and smells that I suspect predate my ability to put things into words. My earliest memories that I know are mine, rather than something I was told about, come from the house in Norfolk where my family lived from 1967 to 1969.
My twin sister Kathy and I hid from the neighborhood bully in the blackberry hedge behind the house; blackberry bushes are thorny, but there was a space within the bushes where we could crouch and see the sky through the branches.
We got a German Shepherd-Alaskan Husky puppy for Easter, 1968. Mom called him Boyfriend, because his job was to keep her company while Dad was at sea. I don't really remember Boyfriend as a puppy, but I remember the night he got hit by a car, which would have been sometime in 1969, when we were three.
Kathy and I tried to feed Boyfriend once. Mom bought dog food in the 25-lb. bags, and the two of us hauled it out to the kitchen floor, where we spilled most of it. We knew we'd be in trouble -- even though we'd been trying to be helpful -- so decided to hide the evidence by eating the food ourselves. The taste of Purina Dog Chow remains vivid in my mind, and may be my earliest true memory. (Yes, I worry about what that says about me.)
What's your earliest memory? Post it in the comments section...