My earliest memory is moving into the home I’d eventually grow up in. I was probably two, maybe three. I remember the kitchen counters being as tall as the Eiffel Tower and I remember the backyard was dirt.

That’s it. My earliest memory and that’s all I remember.

I don’t remember my mom or dad. I don’t remember diapers or teething. From age zero to age four, I don’t remember anything.

This is nothing shy of a tragedy. I understand that now. I understand that the hardest years of my parents’ life were the ones I don’t remember. At all.

So, Mom and Dad, accept this as a belated thank you. Because I understand now what you went through and it deserves recognition (albeit 32 years late).