Timeline: One Through Six

1982
I am born in San Francisco, on a Sunday afternoon during a 49er playoff game and a rainstorm. My sister asked for a puppy and it took her years to forgive me for showing up instead. For weeks my parents struggle between Noel and Marie as my middle name. They finally decide upon Noel but not before the birth certificate had already been filed and processed, with my middle name left blank.

1983, age one
Instead of a security blanket, I carry a security bottle. Finally, months and months past the healthy age for bottle sucking, my mom tells me she won't take a bottle away but she won't buy me another one either, so it's up to me to keep track of the ones I have. It isn't long before I lose them all, one by one. My mom tells me of the very last one, left on a city bus, and how it was painfully hard for me to realize she meant what she said.   

1984, age two
We go to the zoo, as a family, and it quickly becomes one of my favorite things to do. When we pass the seals and sea lions and catch a glimpse of the polar bears—the first bear at the San Francisco Zoo if coming from the main entrance—I crane my neck, tense up and hope there are two in the cage. It's a ridiculous quirk of mine, to become incredibly—inconsolably, really—sad when there is just one polar bear in the exhibit. I cry to my mom, "But, they're lonely! They need friends!" I imagine my sweet mother tensed up just as much as I did, hoping for two; hoping her sensitive, deep-souled toddler would be able to hold it together if the zoo had been unfair.

1985, age three
One of my first real memories was the sound of my mother's voice. I would walk beside her and grip hold of her purse as she would beg me to stop pulling on it. For years—beginning this year, it seemed—I needed to be near her. We left West Portal and moved to Daly City, and our new house was blue with hollow steps, big columns and deep brown carpeting. I thought we lived in a mansion until I was old enough for reality to taint me. Next door was a church; a church that would praise at all hours of the night. I remember keeling over with laughter, years later, as my mom stomped next door in her Snoopy slippers to tell the congregation she had daughters trying to sleep and could they please just KEEP IT DOWN.

1986, age four
At my Christian preschool I collect rocks at recess. One day, during worship, I dance around, forgetting about the rocks I've shoved into my dress, and they fly out all over the stage. The worship leader stops the music and makes me pick up each one before she'll begin again. At home, my sister begins teaching me after she gets home from third grade—and after making me schlep books and paper downstairs to our make-shift classroom. Before I turn five she will have somehow taught me to read.

1987, age five
I begin Kindergarten, at a great elementary school in the city, and we lie about our address so I can attend. I become best friends with a girl named Lindsay Farrell and we conduct the class symphony together, which I thought made us terribly important. At Christmas, after tearing open Barbie's Dream House and board games, my parents call me to the front room where a dog named Spencer is waiting for me. I spend the next few days convinced he is my surprise as I was the only one who didn't know he was coming. Months later, we come home to find he's chewed up the living room couch and my dad tells my sister and me we should get rid of him because of it. Instead, my dad puts Spencer out in the rain and leaves us to watch him. We cover him with a blanket and stay outside in the rain with him, never leaving his side. We call my dad, pleading with him to let us bring Spencer back in the house. Years later my dad will tell us he was always shocked we didn't just sneak him back in—it was a thought that had never occurred to us.

1988, age six
I move onto first grade. My dad and I walk hand-in-hand down Taravel, past a video store, while I yell out the lyrics to "Margaritaville" by Jimmy Buffet. When I screech out "it's your own damn fault"—the wrong lyric, I now know—he snickers for a minute before saying to me, "Some people may not know you're just singing a song; some people may think you're talking to them, so you should probably sing that in your head." This is the patient and incredible reason my father gives for why I shouldn't scream out—at six years old—the word "damn." It takes these memories to remind me he hasn't always been the man he is now.   

Comments

[Sabrina]

I would have been sad for the polar bear too.

Tony's from Daly City. His family still lives there and we visit every now and then.

[Sarah]

Wow, awesome what happens next?

[slynnro]

These posts always make me feel bad because I have the world's worst memory! But they are interesting to read.

[Ashley Forrette]

What a great idea for a post! Looking forward to more!

[cc]

Ok, wow. Totally made me cry, but in a good way.

[Jess]

I like that you lied about your address to go to a good school, like Francie in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. And also that your sister taught you to read. How sweet.

[Raven]

Lovely honey!

[anne]

I love this. Great job. Is this from mightygirl?

[Jen]

I'm with Stara completely - here I am just wishing that I could remember details like this!

[Larissa]

That's a wonderful Margaritaville memory :) I love that song.

[Dianna]

I love these posts! I have been sucked into Holly's early years and now yours as well. I love it, please continue on!
Hope the window's finally fixed and you have internet!

[Natalie]

I love it! So, when my dad was always calling you Jennie Marie, he was almost right?

I'll tell you about my Kindergarten year:

My mother was student teaching at the same school as me, but apparently that didn't influence me to behave. I sat out almost every recess because I wouldn't take a nap. I went to all day Kindergarten and had to take a nap everyday. I hated it and Mrs. Singleton. One day my teacher sent home a note of how I had been misbehaving during nap. I decided that I did not want to get into trouble, so I forged my mom's signature! My teacher didn't even fall for it for a second, and I missed recess again. :(

[Someone Being Me]

I love the idea of the timeline. I have been reading Holly's as well. Thanks for sharing your first few years with us. I can't wait to read more.

[Camels & Chocolate]

1) You grew up "around the corner" from where I now live! (And yes, I realize we've already established this, but it's still worthy of exclamation points!)

2) I love Holly for inspiring these timelines (among other reasons). Every blogger should do them!

3) Did you have to spend hours on the phone with your mom conjuring up these memories? Because I totally did. And it was kind of fun, chatting for hours about "the good ole days."

4) Speaking of my mom and "Margaritaville," did you know she dated Jimmy Buffett (hmm, perhaps I should blog about that someday)? She dumped him after a year or so because "he would never amount to anything." She moved to Europe; months later the album "Come Monday" came out. She sure showed him!

[Kerri Anne]

1982 was a great! year to be born. Not that I'm biased or anything.

Also: I love that you collected rocks.