My earliest memory

To be honest, it’s either this or another one where my mom thought I had kicked my brother when I really hadn’t. But that’s another story. Let’s pretend my earliest memory is this one.

I am sitting in school, and the teacher says, “Try to do something different today.” In retrospect, I realize what a great teacher this was to teach this lesson to kids. Then she turns around, and waves her hand vigorously behind her back. “Hello?” She questioned, trying to shake someones hand like that. And the class giggles. Then she folds her hands behind her back and says formally, “Namaste.” Giggles again.

My three year old mind was deligh-ideas-matter-ted, and this stayed with me. I practiced in the loos of my life, waving and folding hands behind my back. Giggling and feeling clever. But I did not do this in front of people. To be in the center of so much attention was not something I could process yet. But I did care about my parents’ attention, and I wanted the moment of my performance to be perfect.

After a couple of weeks, my dad announced he was going out of town on work. I was thrilllled!! Here was my opportunity to show them what a funny delightful daughter I was.

Doubles practice. Mom questions why I am going to the loo so much. Makes excuse of playing with water.

The day arrives, and my mom invites me to walk Dad down to the auto. I refuse and rush to the balcony to back-wave at him. On tiptoe, I watch Dad get on the auto, then turn around, tiptoe and wave and wave. Then, it hit me. I was too damn short. Even if my dad did look up, he probably only saw the top of my head. So my earliest memory of being different, is also my earliest lesson in not to be a dumb ass.

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