My body was born 50 years ago. I know this not only because my parents told me, but also because the government decided its business includes tracking and certifying exactly when, where, and of whom people are born.
My body bears the scars and wear of 50 years of life. The first half of that period it was growing. Then it stopped growing and started down a predictable path of degeneration. (Presbyopia appeared within the last decade, followed by the beginnings of detectable osteoarthritis.)
My mind also bears the scars and wear of 50 years of life. I can trace paths backward in time, but my ability to do that is also only going to degrade as it ages. My memory (like that of most people) is not continuous. I have snapshots of varying length, clarity, and detail. Looking back in time is like turning around and finding most of the path you walked submerged in a dark body of water. The memory snapshots are like stepping stones that have not yet sunk from view.
How far back can I see?
My earliest memory is from just before I reached my second birthday. What I remember is looking out a window where we lived and seeing a snowplow a few houses up the street that was stuck. I was upset and wanted the truck to get help. I was placated when my father said he would go help it. (How can I be confident in this memory? The visual details in my mind are limited, but I am certain I was looking downwards and to the left and the plow was 3-4 houses up the street heading away. Cross-checking with my parents: at the time we lived on the second story of a house that had windows tall enough for a 2-year-old to see out. My father remembers the incident and agrees with the orientation and distance of the plow. Public records note two extreme blizzards in the month before my second birthday.)
Memories that I would call visually “complete” begin by age 4, which I can tell because they occurred around a house we left in my fifth year. Here are some of the more vivid ones:
Rattlesnake in the street: I was playing outside and my Mom ushered me into the house saying there was a rattlesnake and it was dangerous. I watched from a window as my Dad and five other men from the neighborhood formed a loose circle around it, right in the middle of the street. They were armed with shovels and I could see a few take jabs at the snake, but otherwise they were just hanging out, talking. I was a little confused because my Mom had made it seem like a serious threat, but it looked like the men were treating it as more of a social gathering. I finally got bored of watching so don’t know how that ended.
Want to learn violin? My Mom was lying on a bed reading a book. Out of the blue, she looked up and asked me if I wanted to take violin lessons. (What is a 4-year-old in the pre-computer-game era going to say: “No, I have too many other commitments?” Of course I’d like to try a new activity!)
You only get soda if you can do it right: A local kid had a 2-liter bottle of soda. He offered to share it with anyone who could drink without backwashing. I don’t remember the words he used to explain it, but basically if you could pour or sip without putting the whole opening in your mouth, you could drink; if not you only got to watch. He demonstrated, and then invited others to drink. I was so relieved when my lips proved coordinated enough to get soda. I felt bad for another boy failed and was denied.
