My First Memory
I had my first memory when I was five years old. It was here that my mother and I shared an unexpected tale of personal courage that paved the way for my amazing life’s journey. It all started when Mom became fast friends with Sheila, our new next-door neighbor. She was a smoker and before long Mom was bumming cigarettes from her and plunged headfirst into the ugly habit of smoking. She sucked on Winston’s and became a reckless pack-a-day smoker.
She was addicted.
Of all the toys in my toy basket, my favorite item was a pink flowered blanket with soft satin edging. I sucked and drooled all over this beloved shroud all day and cuddled with it all night. It was pried from my hands before going on outings, and I didn’t like parting with it on laundry day.
I was addicted.
On a day much like any other, Mom made a fleeting comment as she held out her cigarette, “I wish I could stop smoking these things.” I was curious, and I climbed onto her lap with my blanket in hand. An easy chat about quitting an ugly habit quickly turned into a bold challenge. My five-year-old self was invited to a reckoning. She looked down at me, our eyes locked, and she spoke these words, “If you stop sucking on your blanket, I’ll stop sucking on my cigarettes.” We sealed the deal with a pinky promise and final proclamation, “Tomorrow we throw out our nasty habits.”
Suckers, Unite and Toss!
The next day I woke up, got dressed, and headed into the kitchen. Mom made a slight mention of our agreement hoping I had forgotten. After breakfast, I gathered up my blanket, hugged it close to my heart, and made my way to the backdoor. I watched my hand grab the doorknob. When it opened, I saw my two feet step down onto the cement patio. I had a strange new feeling as if I stepped from a black-and-white limbo into a full-color memory just like Dorothy stepping into Munchkinland. Bravery and fear
were holding hands.
I looked left and saw the fence from across the patio. Behind that fence was the garbage can. My thoughts paralyzed me for a moment. Then I squeezed my blanket a little closer, which gave me permission to carry on. As I inched closer, my heart was racing, my steps were slow, and my feet felt thick. I reached the gate and pulled the latchstring. The gate slowly creaked open and the silver garbage can sat waiting for me.
I stared up at the lid and envisioned my blanket mingling with the soup cans, gravy, and eggshells. Even though I was scared, my promise to quit was still holding true north. Time was quickly coming face to face with action. With shaky hands, I bravely stepped up to the can and pushed up the lid. On tippy-toes, I opened it just enough to send my blanket over the edge and onto the pile of garbage. I fixed the lid, walked back out into the patio, closed the gate with a chime, and walked back into the house. My mother was flabbergasted. I asked her later if she had quit smoking that day and she confessed, “I realized I was playing truth or dare with my five-year-old daughter. The ball was in my court, so I had no choice, I quit!”
That single act of courage gave me permission to face many other challenges throughout my life. I learned to fail without feeling like a failure, to succeed without arrogance, and to risk with wholehearted passion. More than anything, I stayed curious, keeping my eye open for opportunities to venture into the unknown. As I stumbled along through adolescence and adulthood, this sense of wonderment guided me on my amazing life’s journey. That same childhood excitement helped create a long successful, career as a ballet studio owner and instructor.
Today, I look back at my life with immense gratitude and my focus has a more reflective and contemplative flavor, which has inspired me to write my memoirs. However, when I saw the Interlake spotlight on the Writing Coaches of Montana it sparked my curiosity, yet again, and a new challenge came to life….Volunteering!