The following poem appears in my new book, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver. It’s about a time I barely remember, a time when as a toddler, I may have broken my father’s ashtray.
On Being Three
I barely remember that year.
Mother said my first word was ashtray.
That’s funny—I’ve never smoked.
My earliest memory is of Dad cursing a blue streak.
Hmm—maybe he swore because I broke his ashtray.
Do you remember when you were three? Think back to your earliest recollection, and tell me about it. You can leave a comment below or e-mail me.