My First Memory
A rocking horse. That is my first memory of the world.
There was nothing special about the rocking horse, other than its use as a children’s toy, nor the location where it was located, in the upstairs hallway. I remember the carpet was blue, and the horse slightly off center from the top of the stairs. Of this last detail, however, I cannot be certain.
On its own, the image has no importance. What gives it importance are the circumstances which created it; namely, its being my first memory, the first thing I remember seeing in this world—even though, now, it exists only as a memory of a memory.
