My first memory is slightly hazy. I don’t remember how old I was, but I remember being seated on a warm vinyl seat in a large truck. I remember how loud the engine seemed to be and that the sky was pink and blue and purple, and my mom was driving. We were pulled up at a fast food restaurant and I remember kicking out my legs over and over again, my feet loudly tapping the bottom of the dashboard. My mom reached over, placed her hand on my leg and told me with her powerful mom eyes “Stop.”
A few months ago, my mom asked me what my first memory was, and I told her that story. She teared up a little and I asked her why.
“That was when we were moving.”
“After your dad and I got divorced. We drove a U-Haul from Seattle to the Bay Area. You were just a little thing.”