Dad Can’t Tell Us Apart
I was between the ages of three and five when I got my first clue; it’s one of my earliest memories. The house I grew up in had two floors. My older sister and I were upstairs, yelling about something to my dad downstairs. After hearing one of us yell, my dad was a bit confused, and asked which one of us had just said that. After we told him, my dad exclaimed that he couldn’t tell our voices apart! This made my sister and me laugh; but I found that hearing my dad say that about me made me glad. I wished that it would happen again. What strikes me about this memory is that it felt so important that it made it into my long-term memory.