My first memory is of the day in late 1968 when my family moved from Copenhagen to Western Jutland, right across the country. I had just turned 2 years old the month before and I don't remember anything from our life in Copenhagen, but one occurence on the moving day itself made enough of an impression on me to stick in my mind forever after.
We had a large truck with all our things parked maybe 50-100 meters away from the brand new apartment we were moving into, and all the furniture and stuff had to be handlifted piece by piece, so it was pretty much an all-afternoon thing to get it all under roof. Being the little one, I couldn't be of much help with anything, so I kept to the apartment while everyone else were at work to shuttle the things in.
Not the most exciting day for a 2 year-old, but I found out that the front door, all the time opened up against the side wall, had created a nice little triangular-shaped "secret room", where I could slip in and stand, watching all the familiar things being carried in.
Much fun to be had by this, but then it suddenly struck me: All this furniture and things kept arriving, but the one thing I loved more than anything at the time was missing: my little crated bed! My worry grew quickly into full-blown despair, as I realised it had probably been left behind or lost in all the confusion! Tears immediately ensued, until my dad came, found out what was the matter with me and then proceeded to take me by the hand to the room where my little bed had been put as one of the very first things, all nice and ready for a little nap.
I have lots of memories from later on in the new place (we only lived there about a year), while as mentioned, none from the old place in Copenhagen, so it's a little funny to think that such a thing that happened on the moving day itself became the first thing that stuck with me.
What is the first thing you distinctly remember?
We had a large truck with all our things parked maybe 50-100 meters away from the brand new apartment we were moving into, and all the furniture and stuff had to be handlifted piece by piece, so it was pretty much an all-afternoon thing to get it all under roof. Being the little one, I couldn't be of much help with anything, so I kept to the apartment while everyone else were at work to shuttle the things in.
Not the most exciting day for a 2 year-old, but I found out that the front door, all the time opened up against the side wall, had created a nice little triangular-shaped "secret room", where I could slip in and stand, watching all the familiar things being carried in.
Much fun to be had by this, but then it suddenly struck me: All this furniture and things kept arriving, but the one thing I loved more than anything at the time was missing: my little crated bed! My worry grew quickly into full-blown despair, as I realised it had probably been left behind or lost in all the confusion! Tears immediately ensued, until my dad came, found out what was the matter with me and then proceeded to take me by the hand to the room where my little bed had been put as one of the very first things, all nice and ready for a little nap.
I have lots of memories from later on in the new place (we only lived there about a year), while as mentioned, none from the old place in Copenhagen, so it's a little funny to think that such a thing that happened on the moving day itself became the first thing that stuck with me.
What is the first thing you distinctly remember?
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