There is this one song, one song in particular that whenever I hear it, a video a plays in my mind.  The same video always plays.  It is a memory.  I don’t remember any of the details surrounding me.  I don’t hear any noise except for that song. 

I am young, probably around the age of five.  I am sitting in the front seat of my biological fathers’ station wagon.  I am pleased that I got to be the one to sit there this time.  My older sisters had to sit in the back.  
I am looking out the window, a tough task when so small. 
In my hands, I clutch my teddy.  I look down at him, holding him in my lap. He is not your average soft fluffy teddy, sitting with outstretched arms ready for you to hug him.  No. He is smallish, yet long, with long dangling legs.  His arms hang down by his side.  His belly and the bottoms of his legs have  beans, similar to those in a small bean bag, in them.  He isn’t fluffy, but he is soft.  He is light brown with brown eyes and a black nose.  He has a red ribbon tied around his neck.  He is my teddy, and I love him.  I snuggle him close.
The next thing I remember is my teddy is no longer in my hands. Instead my father has placed him on the steering wheel, he starts pretending that teddy is driving.  I giggle a small childish giggle.  I don’t hear any voices, but I see the mouths moving, the shaking of my body from the laughter.  The only sound I hear is the song.  Carly Simons Coming Around Again/Itsy Bitsy Spider. We listened to that tape a lot in the car. Then the scene fades. 

That is my memory.
That is one of my most vivid memories from before the age of six.  The other few memories I have from before that age are mostly images. As if I am flipping through a photo album.  That song though, it plays a video. I always see the video and the song is always the only sound I hear.

Advertisements