This is the world. Say hello to it.

in pursuit of the Toy Story clouds.

hoping he remembers the bunny. but if not, we have this picture.

I have a theory that there are a few questions that let you get to know somebody almost immediately. They tell you something about the person. I believe there are several of these questions, but I think the most informative question you can ask this: what’s your first memory?¹

My friend Cathy claims I stole this interrogatory shortcut from her. And I probably did. In nine ways out of ten, she’s much smarter than I am. Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about first memories lately because my kid is rapidly approaching the age when he will form his first memory. I’ve already written about the phenomenon I call performative parenting, illustrated in the act of taking our one-year-old to the Santa Barbara Zoo. The joke is that he’s not going to remember the Santa Barbara lions or giraffes at all. It was a performance in parenting.

But we are now exiting the stage of performative parenting and entering the era of formative parenting. (I’m sorry it’s such a broad term.) But I guess formative parenting probably takes us through the next decade or so? I haven’t exactly nailed down the timeline.

The point is that last weekend, we went to the local Catholic carnival. This is a thing that big Catholic Churches do. We have these carnivals in the fall. And some of my earliest memories were from these carnivals at my own church; of the world’s exceptional possibilities in the head of a small kid at a small carnival. ² And it’s nice to think — in fact I prefer to think — that my son’s first memories might sometimes mirror my own.

Will he remember the carnival this weekend? Probably not. Will he remember grinning like an escaped convict as the painted-metal horse trotted him around the merry-go-round? I hope so. But again, probably not. Or the corn-on-the-cob we bought him or the tiny clanking roller coaster in the corner of the carnival? Nope. He certainly won’t remember that he was too small to ride it. But maybe, if we’re very lucky, he’ll remember the sense of the place.

On the morning afterwards, I asked him did you go to the carnival yesterday — and his eyes lit up for a few moments. It was a brief glow. Almost immediately, he was back to demanding I pour more raisins in front of him. But the glow was still there.

I think the main thing that I’m trying to illustrate in this carnival story is that our first memories aren’t so much about the first memories themselves. They’re instead about our first sense of the world. Obviously, there are people who have horrible first senses of the world. Abuse and awful parents and everything else. But my first sense of the world is as a very gentle sort of place. If I had to compare that first sense to anything, I’d say it’s a bit like what the clouds look like in Toy Story.

toy story clouds

And my first sense of the world is a nice place, I still like to look back at it sometimes. I think a lot of us feel that way. And those of us who are lucky enough to have had that first sense of the world as a nice place tend to lose it over time. I don’t know what happens to us, but the world comes at you and you both change. At some point, you realize the world is an indifferent place. And at times, it can even feel downright nasty.

But this is why — in the era of formative parenting — we take him to places like the Catholic carnival or the small-town Halloween parade or the zoo or anywhere else. It’s so much easier to stay inside, reading him books and feeding him raisins. But that’s a small world. And we’re trying to introduce him to a bigger world. He’s not a dog — it’s not about socializing him. It’s about trying, in one potential first memory or another, to give him the sense of the world as a nice place. As a bit like the clouds in Toy Story.

I’ve already written about how the best parts of dad-hood are spent in reliving your own childhood. And that was a decent piece. But now I think the best parts of dad-hood are actually spent in joyful acknowledgement of the fact that you’re creating a childhood. You’re developing a human being’s first sense of the world. And, as we were at the carnival, watching my kid circling the merry-go-round, I noticed this particular joy in seeing the world through that sense. Through the glow of a kid at a carnival. If that isn’t nice, then what is?

1. and I think this probably the best way to ask it. The phrasing tell me about your first memory sounds a bit slimy somehow.

2. I’ll just pass over the pedophilic elephant in the room. We didn’t have one of them at Saint Francis. Or actually, we did, but I missed him by about four years.