#myearliestmemory

I wonder what Adam's earliest memory will be. 

Mine is 3 years old at my grandparent's house. I was in the kitchen with Papa (that's my dad's dad). We were getting lunch ready. This memory is a shadow, but the details that stick out to me are: trying my hardest to peek over the counter to see what he was doing (I can sense myself even now struggling on my tippy toes to get a glimpse into his secret recipes) and asking very directly what he was making. He gave me a very indirect answer… “Recipe Beans.” He was making lima beans, but from that day forward I would never refer to them by anything other than recipe beans. I have no idea why that memory is so sticky, and I can still see it in my projector brain like an old reel-to-reel clip. My Papa loved his grandkids very, very much. Maybe this is so sticky because it was truly a memory that was held just between him and me. We were the secret holders of the recipe beans. To this day my favorite bean dish is recipe beans. (Ellen loves them too.)

It is memories like this that are so incredibly peculiar to me. There is no big moment, no truly memorable circumstance, but my mind latched on to it. And then I think about if Papa was still alive: and I would ask him, “Want to come over for lunch? How about I make some recipe beans?” He would laugh and smile and feel love because that tiny insignificant piece was just for us. 

This 3-year-old-boy-recipe-beans memory is a memory that floods my Papa's presence into the moment. It is a trigger to a smile every time I have a pot of lima beans on the stove. 

We never know what will be the sticky memories in our lives. Sure, the milestones will be vivid. But what about the little things? 

What are Adam's little things? I don't know, but I do know one thing: I will cherish every single moment of "recipe bean” memories while we are together. 

And since I mentioned him, let me tell you about my Papa. He was not full of words, but he was full of action. We were always doing: planting trees, raising rabbits, salvaging and repurposing bicycles, growing elephant ears, cutting grass, hauling dirt, drinking cokes, getting snacks, fishing, fishing, and more fishing. He told the dumbest jokes that got the best laughs out of me. He could talk like Donald Duck and growl like a dog. He could fix and "fix" anything. He inspired me often to try at things I was not so sure of. And I was his Bubba. 

Dear Adam,

I cannot tell you what your earliest memory will be. But I can tell you this--the little things that fill in between the milestone moments of our lives, well they tend to be the sweetest things that compound into our character. And make you cry later when you recount them in a blog to your unborn child. I love you!

Love, 

Arguably the Strangest Dad Ever