My Very First Memory
“In childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking out. In memories of childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking in.” -Robert Brault. The experiences in our childhood are filled with both extreme joy and unbearable sadness. Much like a potter molds clay our experiences mold us for the better and erstwhile for the worst. I have two memories of my early life that stick out most to me.
My first memory I want to share is of fracturing my arm. I was eight when this transpired. I went to a day camp every summer. The camp was in the neiborhood where I grew up, so all my comrades went to the same camp. We would play all kinds of games and there were many activities for us to participate in like swimming and sports. We also would go on excursions to places like the zoo and the museum.
One morning we were playing track and field. The events we did were the hurdles, 4x 100 and 40 yard dash to name a few. I had fancied myself as a talented jumper so the hurdles came natural to me. At camp that year I was categorized with the elite when it came to the hurdles. On this particular time though I lined up and I heard the count- On your marks, get set, go! I took off over the first, then the second, next the third; I was halfway there and way ahead of the pack. When I got to the fourth I cleared it, or at least I thought I had when my foot caught the last hurdle. Down I went and in an attempt to try to break my fall I stuck my left arm out and I shattered it in two places. The pain was the worst I had ever encountered and I still use that as a measuring stick today when gauging any discomfort I have. I can recall when the counselor called my mother and I went to the hospital and got a cast put on. I also can recollect how enjoyable it was to have all my pals autograph sign. I also can recall the day when I had my cast removed, the saw was so earsplitting and I thought it was going to maim me, but when it was off I my arm was in pristine condition, but I never
My first memory I want to share is of fracturing my arm. I was eight when this transpired. I went to a day camp every summer. The camp was in the neiborhood where I grew up, so all my comrades went to the same camp. We would play all kinds of games and there were many activities for us to participate in like swimming and sports. We also would go on excursions to places like the zoo and the museum.
One morning we were playing track and field. The events we did were the hurdles, 4x 100 and 40 yard dash to name a few. I had fancied myself as a talented jumper so the hurdles came natural to me. At camp that year I was categorized with the elite when it came to the hurdles. On this particular time though I lined up and I heard the count- On your marks, get set, go! I took off over the first, then the second, next the third; I was halfway there and way ahead of the pack. When I got to the fourth I cleared it, or at least I thought I had when my foot caught the last hurdle. Down I went and in an attempt to try to break my fall I stuck my left arm out and I shattered it in two places. The pain was the worst I had ever encountered and I still use that as a measuring stick today when gauging any discomfort I have. I can recall when the counselor called my mother and I went to the hospital and got a cast put on. I also can recollect how enjoyable it was to have all my pals autograph sign. I also can recall the day when I had my cast removed, the saw was so earsplitting and I thought it was going to maim me, but when it was off I my arm was in pristine condition, but I never