The First Thing I Remember

Catharina as a child, by Frans Hals.
 In her hand she holds a silver rattle
 with bells, a precious status
 symbol. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For my narrative paper, I decided to write about the first thing I remember (at least, I think it's the first thing).  I could have picked a lot of other memories, but this one has stuck with me, and I thought it was about time I figured out why it has.  Here goes.
I am about 4 years old.  I am waking up on the old sofa in my grandmother's living room at her old house in Joliet.  My grandmother comes in and helps me put on my socks.  And that's it, the whole thing.  
When I started thinking about it this time, I realized I had some questions.  First of all, why was I alone?  Usually, when I stayed at Grandma's house, at least my sister Rebbie was there, too, if not one of my brothers or our oldest sister, Marie.  I'm guessing that my mother was in the hospital again (she had kidney disease), and my dad took me to Joliet because it was summer and he didn't want Marie, who is 10 years older than I am, to have to deal with all 4 younger kids.  I also guess that my brother Peter, who is the second oldest went to our other grandparents in Chicago, because he and Marie were fighting all the time.
My other questions had to do with my grandmother, and after I spent some time brainstorming about her, I realized that she is the reason I still remember this.  I haven't quite gotten to a thesis yet, but I will.

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A Haunting Memory

Note to new readers:  this begins Rhonda's 101 journal for Summer 2014.  You can read earlier 101 blogs in the fall 2011 and 2012 postings (start with August).

Finally got my blog set up, and since I haven’t done a reading yet, I’m going to talk about my topic for Project 2, the memoir.  The story I’m going to use is actually my first memory (or so I think).  I remember sleeping on the sofa in my grandmother’s living room in Joliet.  I was about four years old and the windows were open, which they never were at our house.  You could tell it was going to be a hot day, but the breeze was just cool enough for me.  My grandmother came in to wake me, and the next thing I remember is her helping me put my socks on.

The Way She Was-- Was EVIL!

Girl receiving first Holy Communion, Sicily
 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Our first essay is supposed to be a memoir "of some experience you had BEFORE you were 12 years old that still has meaning for you now."  I had some trouble thinking of one, but then I remembered my first holy communion.  I was about six or seven, and my oldest sister played an evil trick on me.  She told me that I needed to be careful not to bite down on the host when I was walking back from the altar.  Like an idiot (or a six year old, I guess), I asked why.  She said, "because then Jesus's blood will gush out of your mouth and go all over your white dress."
I'm going to use this story, even though she did stuff like this to me all the time, because it shows just how evil she was.  Now that I'm thinking about it, there was the Christmas where she gave me a Milky Way and told me to cram the whole thing in my mouth because she heard Mom coming downstairs.  Then she gave me a glass of Coke to help wash it down.  Well, for some reason, the candy bar started to foam like crazy, and it actually did gush out of my mouth, all over my velvet Christmas dress.  
See what I mean about her being evil?  
And no, we don't really get along. 

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