Photo by Tony Evans
Some are born to sweet delight
When I was around 10 years old, my best friend at the time, Andy Jack, and I traded stories about what our first memories were. Amazingly, his was from a time when he was a mere sixth months old and his dad took him to the circus for a ride upon an elephant!
My first memory was not nearly as cheerful, although it started out that way. I was one and a half; fifty years ago now; and my mother was having some girlfriends over for a sun-bathing party. As I watched the women in their bikinis on that hot day, enjoying early 60’s music blaring from a fuzzy radio in the background, and drinking cold drinks, a bee began to pollinate the tulips in our backyard. As the bee buzzed between flowers, I got caught up in the action, and wanted to be larger part of the beauty. I thrust my finger out to the sky and said, “Come to me bee! Come to Me!” Well, right then the bee landed on my finger and stung me deep. Being such a young lad the poison felt about as shocking as a rattlesnake bite, and try as I did, I could not stop from bawling for a long while. Mom’s immediate assistance was comforting, and though the poison probably made me stronger, I couldn’t help but wish later that my first memory had been something more delightful such as Andy’s when he felt like a young price during his colorful three-ring circus elephant ride.