There are many moments from my childhood that are gone forever.
It isn't that they didn't happen, or that the usual milestones of childhood and personal development weren't significant. I simply don't remember them.
For example, I don't remember when I learned to walk. I can't remember a time when I couldn't read, but I know there was a time when I didn't know how to do that.
I guess I sort of remember when I learned to ride a bike.
Then there are my incomplete (or perhaps the word "imprecise" is better) memories. I have memories of being in kindergarten, but I don't remember the specifics, like dates. I have a vague memory of my first day, but I couldn't tell you everything we did on that day. And I remember the last day, when we went through a "graduation ceremony," and we marched into the room, the boys wearing blue caps and gowns, the girls wearing pink caps and gowns. I presume we were given "diplomas," although I am equally sure mine was lost long ago, and, instead of a commencement address, the teacher probably said a few words of thanks to the parents.
And that was it.
That's about as specific as my memories of kindergarten are. I have general memories of the kindergarten, of playing outside at recess. There was a pecan tree in the yard, and I remember taking my turn cracking pecans between two bricks. Ah, the simple pleasures of childhood.
I assume my kindergarten experience was a lot like anyone else's. At the time, of course, I was blissfully unaware of what was going on in the rest of the world, but yesterday was the anniversary of something that led to a memory that has stayed with me all my life. I just don't know if the memory was from when I was in kindergarten or if I had progressed to elementary school by that time.
It probably isn't important, you know. And, yet, it is important. If nothing else, it would fill a gap in my memory bank.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I couldn't tell you for sure what I was doing on Feb. 12, 1966, but, if it was a weekday, I was probably making Valentines in kindergarten. That day, Simon and Garfunkel's tune "Homeward Bound" debuted on Billboard's Top 100 at #5.
It was one of my mother's favorite songs, and she wasn't alone. It is a fan favorite, too.
I remember the day she brought home the 45 rpm single. She put it on our stereo and played it again and again. For hours. If I close my eyes, I can see that seven–inch record with a solid red Columbia label spinning on our turntable. And I can hear her singing along.
She played that record so many times that afternoon that I knew the words by heart before we sat down to supper. And I had never heard the song before that day.
The memory is vivid. I always think of Mom when I hear "Homeward Bound."
I just can't remember if I was still in kindergarten or if I had moved on to first grade when she got that 45 rpm single.
I wish I could.
