Squirrels in the Window

Summary

The text recounts the author's earliest childhood memory of an exhilarating encounter with a squirrel, emphasizing the non-verbal nature of the experience and the subsequent loss of the author's first language, which was spoken only with their mother.

Abstract

The author shares a vivid recollection from infancy, filled with sensory details of a squirrel's visit, which evoked an intense emotional response. The memory is devoid of language, reflecting a pre-verbal stage of life and the author's reliance on their mother's native tongue, which they have since forgotten. This memory is part of a larger story published on the "WotWU" publication, where the author explores the evolution of childhood reactions to life's experiences. The author expresses gratitude for the opportunity to share their story and acknowledges the publication for providing a platform for writers.

Opinions

The author views early childhood memories as sensory experiences rather than verbal narratives.
There is an implied sense of wonder and excitement associated with the sighting of the squirrel.
The author suggests a connection between the loss of their first language and the wordless nature of their early memories.
The piece conveys a sense of nostalgia and the importance of maternal interaction in shaping early experiences.
The author appreciates the role of the publication in nurturing a community of writers and providing a space for personal stories.

Earliest memories of a duuudely infant

No words in this memory. Sights. Sounds. Sensations. A squirrel in the window. Electricity lights my limbs and chest when I see the bushy tail, obsidian eyes, the hop-pause-hop. Excitement ignites me, jumping, squealing octaves only dogs and mothers can hear.

Mom appears expecting trouble, sees me glued to the squirrel scrabbling along the window.

Mom makes sounds, perhaps teaching me “squirrel” or “dangerous rabid animal”.

I spoke only her mother-tongue until I went to school. I’ve lost that language. Perhaps that is why my memories lack words.

The squirrel disappears past the frame of the window. Electricity drains out of me and spills through the bars of my crib. Mom’s holding me now, and I’m pointing, commanding, a miniature general, to the window, to the squirrel, to the world outside. Tears on the general’s inconsolable cheeks.

This, in response to Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她)’s theme for the week, is a condensed version of the first part of my story which I just posted on the WotWU publication today. In my story I talked about my very earliest memories. You were reading my mind! Here is my full story:

I hope it is OK to submit such condensed versions here.

Thank you so much for your wonderful publication, for giving us a home for our words, and being such a sunny-side up person, a good egg.

Squirrels in the Window

Earliest memories of a duuudely infant

I Dream of Electric Squirrels

An evolution of childhood reactions to the ebb and flow of life