My earliest memory

My earliest memory dates back to when I was two years old. My parents had tried to place me in daycare while they were working but I absolutely hated going and cried every morning when my mom attempted to leave me in the care of the daycare workers. I whined and complained that I hated the food and my teachers were mean to me, when really my little two year old ulterior motives were to cry so hard that they would pull me out and send me to be babysat at my Nanny and Papa’s house. I loved going to my Nanny’s house, she was like a second mother to me, who offered that special type of love only grandmothers can provide.

My master plan was successful. My tears and sorrow broke both my parents and grandparent’s hearts and they decided daycare wasn’t for me. From then on I was the happiest little girl because I was in the care of the one person I loved most in this world.

Every day if it was nice out my Nanny and I would go for a walk in the afternoon, down the street to my house with my nannies next-door neighbor and her grandson who she babysat – I think his name was Brandon. I loved our walks; I would push my baby doll in her stroller with one hand while holding tightly to my Nannies with the other. I remember telling Brandon that he wasn’t allowed to push my baby doll because he may drive her into the ditch.

When I was four years old my Dad told me that a new family would be moving into the house next door to ours and that they had a little girl about my age. This made me so excited; I was going to have a new friend who lives right beside me to play with all the time!

For one week every day when we arrived at my house on our afternoon walk, I would go around to my backyard, pull my little red lawn chair from my playhouse and sit in the middle of my driveway facing their house, watching and waiting to see if my soon to be best friend showed up.

Finally one day out to the small wooded area that separates our houses appeared this tiny little two-year old girl who looked like a smaller version of me. She walked right up to us and introduced herself as Stephanie. We immediately became friends and started playing together in my front yard. It wasn’t until her dad came over to talk to my Nanny that we found out her name was actually Samantha!

Samantha and I grew to be best friends. We lived beside each other for ten years and she basically became the sister I never had, but always wanted. We shared toys, imaginary best friends and worst enemies (one named Power Kaya – we were huge Power Rangers fans). We fought just like real sisters do, claiming that one wasn’t invited to the others birthday party even if it was six months away, usually over the silliest things such as who was going to dress as Sailor Moon for Halloween.

Together we welcomed the second addition to her family, Jamie with curiosity and excitement. It was so much fun to have a little baby to play dress up with and carry around the house. But to this day I still feel terrible for the way we treated Jamie when she was a toddler. We would torture the poor little girl, probably scarring her for life. Sam and I used to put scary Halloween masks on and chase her all around the back yard until she would cry and run inside. We would fall over laughing about how funny we thought it was until we would be yelled at; I sent home and Sam to her room.

Sam’s family moved to British Columbia when I was in eighth grade as her Father was in the Navy and was posted. From then on as we grew older we lost touch with each other although we are still in contact somewhat today. Her family has now moved back to Sackville where we grew up, but Sam is actually living in Europe with her older brother.

There are two people in my life who define my childhood. These people are my Nanny and Samantha, both of who are gone from my life today but the memories I have from my time with them I know, will last a lifetime.