As I look back through my mental picture book, I keep dead-ending at this image of me and my parents in a pool. I’m sure if I really press, I can find something older, more significant, like the first time I ate _____, or my first experience with ______. My grandfather was a Shriner, and my grandmother owned her own business and held extravagant Christmas parties every year at their home in Oklahoma; surely some earlier experience from them has found a permanent place in my brain.
But what I keep coming back to is this memory of my parents and me swimming in the pool near our house. It’s dark, I have little floaties on my arms, my hair is nothing but a jumble of curlicues sticking out maybe an inch or two from my head, and both my parents are there, one on each side of me. We’re treading water in the deep end of the pool, slowly making our way to the light that shines brightly just beneath the diving board.
My mother and I used to swim our summers away in that pool. Even though we lived across the street from Lake Buchanan, it was in the pool that we chose to swim. For one thing, Buchanan is rarely full, as it is the first lake in the chain of man-made lakes in the Texas Hill Country, and thus feeds all the other lakes down the line. Continue reading Day 4: My Earliest Memory