Earliest memories

How early can we remember?  I suspect that some of the "memories" registered in my brain may not be remembered as such, but memories of being told or seeing pictures of early events.   Still they have the true look and feel of memoreis....so what's the difference.   I know my daughter Nina took a course on  copies, fakes, and forgeries in art, and their relationship to the "real."   Maybe this is one she could puzzle out.

Anyway the very earliest memory is not visual.   Let me set the stage.   My mom and dad were married in 1939.   In 1941 there was a baby that didn't survive 24 hours.   Then I was conceived, but my father left for WWII before I was born.  (Thus I have a prolific movie and photo documentary of my first 1.5 years.)   With my father gone, my mother quit her school teaching job and ran my father's floor scraping business.  That meant driving the truck, supervising jobs, etc....all pregnant with me.   She lived in an apartment over my grandfather's grocery store on Division Avenue in Belleville, NJ.   (My grandmother had already died in 1938.)   Also living above the store was my aunt Marion with her son Steve, a year older than I.   Two temporarily alone sisters, two toddler boys, and my grandfather.   I'll bet it was pretty interesting.

Anyway, the memory (so called) is of a phone call and my mother saying my father (whom I had never seen) was back in the US, and we would see him soon.  What's a word that goes beyond excited.   I truly knew this was a big moment.

Memory #2 from the store on Division is me in a playpen in front of the store, and the big deal is that this was the first time I stood on my own.   Now I have pictures of this, so am really a bit doubtful I could remember first standing up.  Now to me this was really not anything special.   I remember, however, the reaction of the adults was quite a big deal....my first retained lesson in how different perspectives can be...and how important the perceptions of others can be to me(us.) The picture in my mind (from the little curly black and white photos) is of the window of the store filled with a geometrical pyramid of boxes of white rose tea.

Memory #3 may have become one of the high points of my life.   My granddaddy took me to a park by a river (I think it must have been the Passaic River.)   We were doing the usual on a spread out blanket and along came a tug boat.   You know how beautiful they can be....black paint, red trim, tires all around, big white wake of water following behind.   We me and granddaddy got up and waved at the tug boat.   And that nice captain waved back.   I had no idea he might do that.  That was an early moment of ecstasy!  The boat, the water, our waves, his wave.   It's as clear in there as if it happened today.   Hmmmm....maybe I should go down to the Monongahela and see if I can scare up a tugboat to wave at.