My second memory

Lots of people claim that a person cannot remember past a certain age, for instance some years ago, a psychiatrist on a radio talk show (no, not Fraser Crane) was arguing with a caller that there was no way she could remember what her parents did or didn't do when she was four.

I'm not really sure what the whole argument was about in her case.

I remember though, an evening when I was about five years old. The fair was in town, I lived abroad then, and the fair was similar to the ones that roam in North America. It had games and rides etc. and the evening had started off badly; my mother didn't want to go, my father wanted to take me but I don't recall any argument between them.

However, I know now that around that time, my little sister was born so clearly, it was more of an inconvenience for my mom, than for my dad, for him to take me out. Also to be honest, I suspect that my dad enjoyed getting away from my mom.

She would have to stay home with my little sister. The trouble with my mom as you will eventually see, is that she doesn't have a single maternal bone in all her body. At least she didn't when I needed it. She might have improved as a mom now, although I still cringe whenever my mother is present.

But I digress.

You might find reading this, mostly on the long run, that I will digress often. Quite often in fact.

So off we went, my father and I.

Almost immediately, the evening started getting progressively worse, as I was walking happily with my hands in my pockets* I tripped on the front gate's rail and fell face first on the concrete sidewalk. I still, to this day, am missing part of my nose. Oh, don't worry, it's nothing major or disfiguring. If anything it gives me the kind of rugged good looks that Owen Wilson gets paid to display smugly on the silver screen.

Of course he also has a full head of hair as well as scripted lines. I have neither although I can improvise relatively well when required to.

I also scraped my forehead and my chin although both to a much lesser level. They bruised but I have no visible scarring.

My father immediately took me back upstairs, cleaned my up and after some arguing with my mom, took me back out.

Later that evening, I was riding a circular ride, the type of ride that today would completely disorient me and cause me to empty my stomach in the cockpit.

It consisted of these mock up UFOs, the cabin had a stick to go up and down, with a large button embedded on top of it with which one could, if pressed at the appropriate time, "shoot down" enemy UFOs.

A free ride was awarded to the last remaining UFO.

I'm not really sure how it worked, all I remember is that I loved it.

I also remember not wanting to leave, and peeing myself in the process, much to my father's disappointment. I doubt he was upset at me, in fact I think he laughed with a sorry look on his face when it happened, the kind of laugh you give a puppy that topples over and knocks its head on the floor while playing. Not a mean laugh, there was nothing cruel in it. My dad was not a cruel person.

However, knowing my mom, I sure wouldn't have liked to be in his shoes when he brought me home that evening.

*The hands in the pocket were a consistent sign of impending doom for me as a child. I fell head first onto ceramic stairs when I was not quite four years old yet, opened my lower lip and destroyed the gums below my lower teeth in the process. Later, when my grown up teeth came out I had to get an operation to graft some skin on the gums in order to prevent the teeth from falling out forwards. It's hardly noticeable now except for the scar on my lower lip and the horrible memory of being held down by several nurses while the surgeon sowed up my lip and gums. There were no anesthetics involved.

I will never have any piercings. Ever.