March 29, 2025

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Between two and three. In the back seat of my dad’s ’38 Buick Special parked in front of the market. Parents have dropped off bags of groceries and go back inside for more. I discovered a carton of eggs. The window is open. With an egg in each hand, I let them drop to the sidewalk. I do it again. On the third time, just before I let them go, my parents approached, carrying more bags. As I look at them, I drop the eggs.

I laugh.

My parents laughed.

This is my earliest memory.