An Early Memory

Last week, in my Leibster post, I included a quick little story about my childhood. It was fairly well received, so I thought that I’d share one of my earliest memories this week. It was a lot of fun to write.

Here is an open challenge to my fellow bloggers: Share one of your earliest childhood memories.

If you post it on your blog and send me a link I will include the link at the bottom of this page.


We were living in Pacific Grove, here in California, in a house that my parents rented from my grandfather. A rocky situation at best: doing business dealings with family. As any three year old would tell you though, I had bigger problems. It was a Wednesday night, and I had a plate of food in front of me, which, as a whole was excellent, and I had eaten everything on it except the repulsive little pile of trees at the farthest side. I was less than a fan of broccoli.

Had I eaten it while it was still hot, that would have been one thing, but I hadn’t. The once steaming, and therefore edible, pile of greens now sat in an unattractive lump of soggy slop staring at me.

Now, I don’t want to talk down broccoli in general, because, as I’ve moved from being a young child, defiant for no particular reason, to someone legally considered an adult, who is defiant for no particular reason. My tastes in food have changed, fortunately. Now I would walk to the edge of the earth for good broccoli – well, that may be an exaggeration… but the far end of the salad bar is definitely within range.

Regardless of how I might one day feel about the stuff, with that small number of years under my belt I had never seen anything that prepared me for a show down with lukewarm broccoli.

There was no way I was going to shove THAT in my mouth, and it would only be a matter of time before my mother noticed, if she hadn’t already. Everyone else had finished their food and they were just sitting around talking. I was scheming. Even at an early age I hated wasting food, and with the money situation as it was, the only thing I would have felt worse about would have been letting my mom see me waste food. So I waited, until no one was looking and slipped the bane of my existence into my napkin, and the napkin off the edge of the table into my lap.

Then I waited. It must have only been a few seconds, but time hadn’t begun to shrink from exposure yet, so it seemed like several minutes. I waited until I felt sure I would skate away from phase one of operation Cold Broccoli unscathed.

It was time to commence stage two, and being a man of action, I didn’t hesitate. Sliding off the chair and stealing out of the room, I made my way out of sight and dropped to my knees on the olive green carpets. I then scrambled over to the corner by the door, whose unique properties suited my mission.

I had been completely enchanted by the loose corner of carpet, and the prospects the little hidden pouch provided. Prospects such as the immediate disposal of broccolis.

Shoving the greens down under the carpet, I was done. The only phase of the mission left was to escape undetected. I ran to the room I shared with my siblings and called it a success.

I never tried to stash broccoli there again because the guilt over the wasted food was near unbearable. I have a hard time believing that it was never found, due to the fondness food has of becoming particularly pungent while decomposing. My mom, however, has no recollection of ever finding it, so I consider my first caper to be a successful one.

This picture has nothing to do with the story, excepting the fact that it is of me as a small child.

This picture has nothing to do with the story, excepting the fact that it is of me as a small child.


 My buddy Mia (@triadvstrinity on twitter) shares a childhood memory that had me both giggling and gasping. Definitely worth a read.

Laura (@elastword on twitter) was one of my first writer friends on twitter and, apparently a pretty cute kid with control issues. Here she shares her childhood memory:




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