I turned one in 1991. That year was pretty much the same as the previous, in my memory. That is to say that I don’t remember anything more from my second year alive than from my first.
Okay, maybe not. The earliest memory I can conjure up is me, crawling in some house that we lived in but I don’t remember, trying to chase the cat. I guess that was probably around when I was one.
We had a cat, by the way. His name was Hadji because my dad liked Johnny Quest as a kid. Hadji was an incredibly intelligent cat. Hadji was an outside cat year round because Arizona is almost never cold. There were coyotes and cacti and all sorts of dangerous stuff in the environment but Hadji never got hurt. There’s a story my father likes to tell where Hadji started getting fat out of the blue. It turns out that he’d been sneaking to a neighbor’s house where the old woman was feeding this “poor pregnant stray”.
Cats are weird.
Anyway, when I was one I suppose my parents started noticing how different I was from my brother. Aaron is and always has been incredibly stoic. He didn’t always behave but when he was bad he never gave it away. Aaron is a cool kid and an important character in my life up to now, so I guess you’ll read more about him.
I was entirely different. Even as I was nearing two years old I still never slept through the night. I was even fussier and more sensitive than any baby you could imagine. I don’t know much about my speech patterns at that age but either way that’s a story for the next year.
It strikes me that, as a baby, years weren't a big deal. Birthdays were things I didn't understand because I was a baby. When I turned two at the end of this blog post period thing I didn't get that I was now twice as old as the last time we'd done this. It's kind of arbitrary, really.
Oh well. It's convenient for this BioWriMo thing.
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