Earliest Childhood Memory

My earliest childhood memory is from when I was about 2 or 3 years old. My mom and her boyfriend (who later became my step-dad) took me to spend the day at a popular swimming hole, Turkey Creek.

Back then, during the early 70's and especially in the South, there weren't many local pools to frequent. Many closed intentionally and voluntarily when the Supreme Court ruled they could not exclude people of a different race--specifically African Americans--and even the most open-minded of rednecks thought swimming with blacks was somehow wrong. And even if you found a pool where there were only whites they were likely to have a host of other rules you probably wouldn't care for: 1) no swimming in cutoff shorts--the popular swimming attire for young men in their teens and early 20s from the blue collar, redneck neighborhoods of Robinwood/Tarrant 2) no food from outside--as if the previously mentioned class of people could afford the pool snack bar and perhaps most importantly--3) no alcoholic beverages--as if anyone wanted to spend a day in 100 degree Alabama humidity without beer.

So most people from our neck of the woods took to the lakes, rivers and streams that surrounded the working class neighborhoods of suburban Birmingham. Turkey Creek, located a few miles north of Birmingham in the tiny town of Pinson is a tributary to both the Locust Fork and Black Warrior Rivers. It has a rich history of importance not only to native Americans but was also the site of the Grist Mill and Iron forge owned and operated by David Hanby who used the forge to make horseshoes for the Confederacy until he was killed by Union soldiers in 1865.* since 1870, Turkey Creek has been a popular spot for locals to swim, fish and picnic and nothing much had changed 100 years later. The water was cool and the current was swift. The lush green surroundings provided relief from the summer heat. Part of the creek was shallow enough to drive a car through and many young men sporting hot rods in the early 70's would use that part of the creek as a free car wash.

I remember this one trip in particular because I'd brought along my pots, pans and other dishes to play in the sand along the shores. Little did my three year-old mind understand but a swiftly moving creed is not the best place to pretend to cook! I very diligently set about arranging all my utensils in an orderly fashion to make my sand and mud-rich culinary masterpiece of the afternoon which I just knew my mom would adore and her new friend would be ever so impressed at my skills! I'd only turned my head for a minute when the current picked up one of my dishes and began carrying it downstream.

I panicked and screamed, "The running water got my dish!" and by the time the words were out of my mouth, my beloved dish had been carried another sixty feet but it was still in sight. I took off running down the shallow sides of the creek after it which quickly caught the attention of my mother whereas my screams a few seconds earlier had not. I was immediately caught and prevented from going any further to collect my belongs. When I protested and explained tearfully, "The running water got my dish!", my mother attempted to go after them. By this time, the dishes were no longer in sight. My future step-father, familiar with the primitive surroundings of the part of the creek that was seldom frequented by others then prevented my mother from proceeding any further. He warned her that there was "no telling what's down that part of the creek--snakes or worse! They're gone. Forget it. She can get some more."

That would have been fine except in my three year-old min, things were like people and couldn't just be replaced. I don't know why I felt this way but I remember thinking these toys had feelings and they would be hurt that I couldn't save them from "the running water". When I was a kid I was notorious for attaching human feelings and emotions to inanimate objects. My youngest child has inherited that trait.

I can't be sure, but I think this is where I learned empathy. though my compassion was for poor, unfortunately objects and not animals or people, I was eventually able to transpose those feelings onto more deserving things and I learned that things CAN (usually) be replaced. There were not too many times after that that I let myself get attached to "things". Only those that had sentimental significance were reserved for that and as such I broke the family cycle of becoming a pack rat--saving anything and everything.

I learned that things, no matter how precious and meaningful and even pets and people can't always last forever. We have very little control sometimes over what we're allowed to hold onto and what we must let go of--except for the memories. If you truly treasure something (or someone), keep it in your memories as best you can. That way "running water" can never claim them.