As a writer, there are a lot of different subjects that I get asked to write pieces on. One of the most common subjects I get asked to write about is, “What is your earliest memory?”
I don’t really have one early memory in particular that I feel inclined to write about, but I do know that I had a very interesting early childhood. In my 14 years of living on this planet, I have been able to piece together the following summary of my first few years from various anecdotes shared by my parents and relatives.
From pretty early on, it was clear that I was no ordinary baby. I would spend all afternoon sitting on my playmat and flipping through book after book after book, trying to decode the hidden meaning of the pages, but mostly losing focus and looking at the pictures. Then, when I was 3, I finally learned how to read, and I kept on reading everything I could possibly read, from books to signs to cereal boxes. My aunt recalls that when I was 4, I visited her and my uncle, and they came to our hotel one day. We all went swimming in the pool, and I said something like this: “Look at that sign over there! It says, ‘Emergency Evacuation Plan’!” My aunt had been dating my uncle for a while, but that, she said, was the first sign that told her she was going to be in a crazy family. Funny enough, it was an actual sign.
When I was about 5, I learned how to hold a marker, and, being inspired by the literature that I took in on a daily basis, started to write and illustrate my own stories. I filled notebook after notebook after notebook with my insane creations. It was unlike anything my preschool teachers had ever seen, and, frankly, they must have gone to Ivy League schools, because they somehow figured out what to do with me.
The bottom line? I haven’t changed a bit. As my mother says, I am a creative spirit.