“Remoted” Workday 162 / Day 238 (Monday)

In large part, I don’t remember being a kid. There are snippets here and there, but the story has so many gaps it’s as if I wasn’t really there. My sister was born when I was five and I don’t remember Mom being pregnant, or my sister even existing until she was about three. Did I block it out?  I might think I was self-absorbed if I actually remembered my own life then, but this is also a big blur.

Each year of school has a few select memories interrupted by massive stretches of blankness.

There are three clear kindergarten memories. First, my kindergarten year kicked off with a bang when I spilled my Kool-Aid at registration and felt terrible for embarrassing Mom. Mom and I once argued about the dress I wanted to wear to school and I think after that she gave up trying to influence my outfits. I was invited to do a finger painting with yellow and green paint that would hang in the hall where the sixth graders might see it, and I was so nervous I dropped the jar and the paint went everywhere. It was on the metal sink, the cabinet, and the floor.

In first grade, my teacher was a mean and horrible woman who was universally recognized by students as someone who should not have been allowed to work with children. Or anyone, really. When I said I was going to ballet class after school, she said, and I quote, “Frankly, once you leave my classroom, I don’t care what you do.” A boy who lived on a farm and ate math paper sat next to me and I drew his name for the Christmas gift swap. I got him a red tractor, and he immediately traded with another kid, right in front of me. 

The later years are not much different. A few oddball, less than great memories, and a lot of nothing.

Proof!

In the course of the Ancestry research on Mummu's family, I typed in my own name to see what records are available. There were lots of newspaper articles with my name in them which confirm my fear that I grew up with a case of amnesia (Tamnesia?). There were the dance recital lists which were expected because I remember going to dance class and being in recitals and also there are photos in the family album. 

The surprises were the articles about Girl Scout activities from age eight to 11. Apparently, as an eight-year-old Brownie I was an “Official Delegate” to a party celebrating the birthday of the Girl Scout organization. At age nine, I was on a planning committee for a “Junior Pow Wow” at Camp Wakitatina. Also at age nine, I was in a photo with some other scouts with wall decorations we made for the hospital and the stockade at Fort Devens. I don’t even know what a Girl Scout Patrol Leader is, but according to another newspaper article, when I was ten, I was one of them. Sounds like fun, unfortunately, I remember none of this. I do remember marching in a parade with the Girl Scouts, not because it was a newspaper item, but because it was captured as a photo in a family album somewhere. It seems I was quite the Girl Scout socialite in a segment of life I barely remember. At least I have my Scouting sash with badges as tangible proof.

Perhaps the Ancestry research should focus on reconstructing my own life, which apparently didn’t make enough of an impression while it was happening for me to even remember it.