Our conversation went a little like this:
Me: Mom, I remember a Christmas when I was really little. Can you tell me where we were living then?
Mom: Tell me what you remember.
Me: Well, I don’t remember if I was in a bunk bed or something, but I remember being under a quilt and looking out my bedroom door while Daddy brought in a Christmas tree in a new, shiny tin pail with red dirt in it. The floor was a bare, hardwood.
Mom thought a few minutes. Mom: We must have been in Georgia. But, you can’t remember that. You weren’t even a year old then!
Me: But, Mom, I’m telling you what I remember seeing with my own eyes.
Mom: But you weren’t even a year old! You probably remember someone telling you about it.
Me: Mom, I also remember that night sitting on your lap in a little, tiny, bathroom with a single, bare, light bulb hanging over the tiny sink. I must have been sick, because you were sitting on the toilet (lid down, I’m sure) holding me on your lap, so I could vomit in the sink. It was a very little bathroom.
Mom: I can’t believe you can remember all that since you weren’t quite a year then. But, that had to be Georgia.
Me: What kind of bed was I in?
Mom: It was probably the iron crib.
Me: Really! I remember that crib. Who was the last of the kids to use that crib?
Well, she couldn’t remember and neither could I. Since I’m one of eight children, the second oldest, it could have been any one of them, I suspose!