On Being Three

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.

Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcome
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

Author: abbiejohnsontaylor

I'm the author of two novels,, two poetry collections, and a memoir. My work has appeared in various journals and anthologies. I'm visually impaired and live in Sheridan, Wyoming, where for six years, I cared for my totally blind late husband who was paralyzed by two strokes. Please visit my website at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com.

2 thoughts on “On Being Three”

  1. I wrote some time ago about climbing up onto the first branch of a large tree out in front of our house when I was three. It was so long ago, but the memories are still vivid in my mind. Three is the age when I seem to have come alive and recalled a lot of stuff that happened to me. It was a good time, full of innocense and wonder.Deon


  2. Hi Deon, I don't know which is worse, climbing a tree or breaking an ashtray. Of course it's possible I didn't break my father's ashtray. My memories of that time are not as clear. I remember reading about your tree climbing episode. Thank you for sharing.


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