A strange thought occurred to me yesterday as I watched The [excellent] Trip to Italy, featuring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon. Brydon was rinsing Coogan for allowing another man to go on holiday with his young children and wife, effectively taking his place as the father figure. He jibed that Coogan’s children wouldn’t recognise him as a father figure because they’re under three and wouldn’t remember him being around the house. The banter led me to ponder my own children and my childhood.
How much do you remember from when you were three? It’s generally accepted that commonly you don’t remember any experiences before three. It’s a sad thought, especially when I think how much enjoyment the first three years of my first child’s life have brought me. The idea that she won’t remember the trips to the farm, the beach, the holidays, is really strange. That the only proof she’ll have will be the photos I’ll show her.
The oldest memory I have is my fifth birthday party at a farm in Hertfordshire – I can remember my wellies, my friends, and the barn with the cows in. But I can’t even be sure those are genuine memories – how much of it is down to the photos I’ve seen?
The conclusion I’ve come to is that your subconscious contains some of your earliest memories – it holds some shapes and feelings from your first years. I think – and hope – this is where your love and bond with your parents stems from. That much is definitely true for the parents.
Rob Gibson 