From October 8, 2012
The first holiday I remember is Thanksgiving. Like every other family I suppose, food always helped my family get along (mostly anyway). The first memorable Thanksgiving, my mom cleaned the corner table that always had the coffee pot on it so that all us little kids could sit on it. We emulated the grown-ups, who were sitting at the kitchen table (that was actually scrubbed clean for once, and made me want to sit at it). That’s the only thing I really remember about that day, that I wasn’t sitting at the big table with people who looked like they understood themselves (or at least made a good impression to me that they did). That realization would be why remembered that exact moment.
I have a memory of Christmas, too, when I got my first bike. I was excited about it, even though it really snowed that year, and I couldn’t ride it until May. There was also a memory of getting a lot of hygiene products another year. My younger sister commented (quite logically too) that I got shampoo and soap because I didn’t bathe enough (even though I was ten. Is it normal to think of dirt at that age? I honestly didn’t care until that present adjusted my perception.)
That first Thanksgiving, though, is the earliest memory. I remember thinking, sitting at that little table, just how silly it was that I was being forced to sit with my cousin and our neighbors’ kids from across the street that our mom had to babysit that day (because their parents were out drinking). My cousin was particularly immature to me for her age (she was younger, but she seemed a bit clingy-like selfish to me), and our neighbor-kids were nothing short of altercating hyenas (and had potty-mouths that even I wouldn’t repeat at my age then). Suppose one could imagine that I began to regress into private activities shortly after, but it did take a little longer than that. Nonetheless, I had these thoughts then about both ordeals. They no doubt shaped my current view of life in their little ways.
- Anya
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My first holiday memory is in the Isle of Man. I was wading in the hotel swimming pool and slipped. I was underwater for a good hour and thought I could breathe like a merman. I was then hauled out of water by some guy and the air took some getting used to, ugh poison. I coughed up so much water and didn't feel very good. Snot with bubbles. My dad asked me what I learned from that experience and I said "time goes slower underwater".
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...as long as I don't actually die doing it, I need that experience.
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My memory was when we went to my grandmother's house on behalf of my father. I really enjoyed it. I'm not staying at all. n.n
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lol... I can't even imagine my father's parents. All I've heard was that they were both nuts somehow.
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