My Earliest Childhood Memory

Hopefully my braids are perfect and my bow is clipped in tight, I hope my new dress and shoes coordinate. I can’t believe of all days, Mom is now telling me I have to get rid of my sookie. She tells me that I won’t be able to make friends if I keep it in my mouth. Oh right, now I have to not only walk into a classroom for the first time, I have to learn to make friends on my own for the first time.

            As if I didn’t have enough pressure for my first day of elementary school, Dad decided to provide me with some new shocking information. As he was driving me into the schoolyard, I noticed the kids who were walking to school being escorted through the crosswalk by a crosswalk guard. The guard was an older woman (or what I would consider to be old at that time), probably about 60 years of age, she was hunched over and had a severe limp, her left hand/arm was extremely crippled and turning inward from what I can only imagine to be a serious case of arthritis, and god love the woman but she looked like she was beaten with an ugly stick, and if that wasn’t bad enough her right eye was permenantly closed over. I remember instantly feeling sympathetic for the woman; however I was five years old and just as I was feeling bad I also couldn’t help but notice how much she resembled Igor. Immediately I poked my dad and pointed to the guard and shouted “Oh my god! It’s Igor!”

            Just as quick as the awful comment left my mouth, my dad looked at me and said “Brianna, don’t say that about your mother!” I asked him puzzled “What do you mean, my real mother?” This is when he continued to say something along the lines of “No one knows but me, and you can’t tell anyone, however, I think it’s time you should know that that crosswalk guard is in fact your real mother. Like I said no one knows, and especially not your “mom”, so no one can find out.” I remember sitting there in complete shock because at the time I was too young to understand that it was a prank or a cruel joke, (if you could call it that) I didn’t understand how it would be impossible for my real mom not to know the difference. I am not even adopted and my real mom is definitely indeed my real mom, however, at five years old I was young enough to believe otherwise.

            Yes, sadly and funnily enough, I was gullible enough to believe that the crosswalk guard was my “real” mom. Therefore, until about middle of grade one when kids would make fun of “Igor, the crosswalk guard”, I would stand up for her, and quickly get the kids to stop. Even though I wasn’t allowed to explain why I stood up for her, I would. She was my real mother after all.

            The funniest part is, my first year I was in class telling my friends about this story and they didn’t believe me, so I text my dad “Remember when you used to tell me the crosswalk guard was my real mom,” he replied “Because she is.”