Locking the Door

Plinky: “What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail.”


I was probably two or two and a half years old. My dad and I were the only two in the apartment. He stepped out to take the trash out to the dumpster that was just downstairs.

All of a sudden, I had the best idea ever. What if I locked the door? Wouldn’t that be funny? So I did.

A moment or two later, my dad came back and tried to open the door and failed. He knocked on the door and called to me to open the door. I, being a fairly obliging toddler, reached up to the doorknob to unlock it.

My hand froze just before I touched the lock, because another, less funny and more terrifying, thought had occurred to me. My dad didn’t sound to happy…and if I unlocked the door….he could come inside where I was. That didn’t seem like a good idea, so I snatched my hand down and ran down the hall and around the corner. I stood tentatively peeking around the corner at the door at the end of the hall with my dad’s [now slightly panicked] voice coming from behind it.


Now, that’s where my memory stops. I know from hearing the story multiple times later in life that he was able to get ahold of someone who had another key and was able to let him in the apartment.

All is well that ends well.

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