Part 5: Who Are You, and Why?

Last night, as I sorted books again for the purpose of giving a batch away, I came across a little volume I had not read (one of several in that category) and decided to read it now. Written by two psychologists, it maintains that your earliest childhood memories explain who you are as an adult and can help change what you don’t like about yourself, if anything. I’ll illustrate with my own childhood’s earliest memories.

At barely the age of three, I remember seeing my younger sister, Ruby Lee, barely one, standing in her crib, crying for mother to take her. She was sick, with each cheek showing a round red spot, indicating fever, I believe. She was wearing a long white dress, as babies wore in those days, even boy babies. Mother was ironing, no more than two or three feet away from the child. My position completed a triangle of our locations. The background of the room behind the crib showed a window and woodwork that was dark brown. In the memory I was not doing anything except observing. I did not feel left out, but a part of the triangle. I knew my eyes were open wide. Lee had double pneumonia and whooping cough, I learned at some point, and my second memory shows a small casket in our front room. To see into it, someone had to lift me. My third earliest memory differed from these first two by my being a performer rather than an observer. Someone, I suppose our mother, got her hands on a ukulele and decided big sister Lucy and I would entertain guests in our home. I was about four then and Lucy eight. I got the ukulele, perhaps the only time in my childhood I got something and Lucy didn’t. An inch-wide light blue ribbon was tied to each end of the instrument and hung around my neck. We sang something similar to “You Are My Sunshine” (but that was not it) while I merely brushed my fingers across the strings. It was great fun but I don’t recall an encore.

I don’t need those psychologists to interpret what those memories show. I was an observer, but not left out. Today I am an observer and don’t feel left out. (I can make my own situations with my imagination.) The first two memories were sad ones and today I cry at any tender moment in my writing, from sorrow or from happiness. If a serious story of mine doesn’t bring my tears, I know something is wrong with it and the reader won’t feel what I feel, and I rewrite. Indeed, famous authors have advised, “Make ’em cry.” As for the dark woodwork, I don't like it at all today, but prefer white trim all around. The third memory was one of performance and today I can perform. That is, I can get up on a platform and speak to a large group of writers. That ability carried me through thirty years of teaching young adults, mostly advanced high school seniors, but also college level, and mainly English.

These psychologists foretell in the book that they can help clients with their problems stemming from bad memories, even weight gain because of low self esteem. The book was advertised for writers and I recommend it to all you writers reading my blog. It is Unlocking the Secrets of Your Childhood Memories by Dr. Kevin Leman and Randy Carlson. I just noticed on the front cover Dr. Leman is the author of The Birth Order Book. I must read that too, for I’m the middle child.

One technique these experts use is to help their clients make their best memories work for them.

Another benefit is you can pass these problems and cures on to your fictional characters and let them suffer a while and triumph.

♥