First Memory

Memories. They are a funny thing. They come they go and sometimes they never come again. They can cause the greatest physical pain and suffering to causing just the slightest giggle and a little smile. My younger memory is one a warm Easter Sunday but the again growing up in Phoenix, AZ warm was not all that unusual. What was unusual was the white tights someone had stuffed me in at some point earlier in the day. My mother I am sure. I always loved watching her as she took each side of the tights and crimped it all together down to the toe so that my little legs could then be covered. Something about that fascinated me. We however almost never were a family of tights. This white tights were a little big and itchy. I stood under the orange tree in my back yard with my Easter dress and hat in waiting on my father to take my photo. To help him along I was fiddling with my hat adjusting it in my mind take it straight and the again I would notice the itchy tights and would stop with the hat to fiddle with the tights. My dad eventually got fed up and yelled at me to just leave it all alone and stand still. He of course was right. I looked adorable without the fiddling about. On my fridge sit a photo of a little girl I once knew and their she stands with a ever so slightly sideways hat and bunched up tights at the knees from where I had been tugging at them.