My First Memory

A new home becomes a world of wondrous adventure for a two-year-old toddler. My parents had just made the second leap in their family plan by moving from a small rented apartment into a big two-story house with a large attic and cellar in addition to the living quarters.

It was an old New England structure with a pyramid roof and gables on the north and south sides. A front porch, which wrapped around to the east side, greeted visitors. The first floor consisted of a front hallway, the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen, which was always permeated by the aroma of roasts cooking and pies baking. The second floor had three bedrooms, the bathroom, and a linen closet.

The pattern on the living room carpet soon became a ready landscape for toy trucks to traverse. The attic, with its storage area and spare bedroom chocked full of old trunks and boxes, would later be subjected to hours of exploration on rainy days. Another place of intrigue for a youngster, the cellar contained a coal furnace and bin, which was stocked by a chute through the window, as well as additional shelves where canned fruits and vegetables (the kind in jars, not cans) were stored.

The house stood on a spacious yard lined on the east and west by large pine trees. Numerous beds of aromatic flowers speckled the green grass with vibrant hues of scarlet, azure, white, and lavender. The apple tree in the back yard would later serve as our version of the Jungle Gym.

On this particular day, my dad was replacing the rotten steps for the front porch. Once he had the new steps in place, I promptly turned them into my personal Mt. Everest, climbing gleefully up and down.

“Don’t play on the steps, David,” my mom cautioned. “You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

Oblivious, I continued my adventure, laboriously mounting each step until I reached the top and then reversing the process.

Suddenly, my dad plucked me up and took me inside, telling my mother, “Keep him here. Don’t let him out.”

Hurt by this sudden and extreme punishment, I pouted and sniffled as I peered out through the screen door, which was latched by a hook well out of my reach. When I saw my dad poking at the eaves of the porch with the prongs of a garden rake, I stammered, “W-w-what’s he d-doin’, Mama?”

“He’s taking down a yellow jacket’s nest, Dear.”

“Yellow jackets? What’s that?”

“They’re bees that will sting and hurt you.”

I could hear an angry buzzing sound as I watched him ducking and dodging while he prodded with the rake until he finally knocked a gray lump from the eaves and put it in a bag.

Presently, my hero came in the house, and my mom treated him with a poultice for the stings he had suffered while defending me from those monsters.

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488 words
Beginning: Parents move into new home.
Setting: New home in a big house.
Plot: I seek adventure in new home.
Ending: Dad rescues me from monsters.