Mi infancia son recuerdos de un patio de Sevilla,
y un huerto claro donde madura el limonero;
mi juventud, veinte años en tierras de Castilla;
mi historia, algunos casos que recordar no quiero.
Retrato, Campos de Castilla, Antonio Machado (1912)
Hoy es un día especial para mí y, por eso, quiero hacer algo distinto y necesito tu colaboración, me gustaría invitarte a recordar, a bucear en tu memoria hasta tu primer recuerdo y proponerte que lo compartas [anónimamente si quieres] para componer un mapa de primeros recuerdos que publicaré la semana que viene.
En la segunda parte de este post podremos reflexionar sobre «los primeros recuerdos», por ahora sólo me gustaría que compartieras generosamente el tuyo y, a ver que pasa, cuando los pongamos todos juntos…
En mi caso, sin ninguna duda, mi primer recuerdo tiene exactamente 48 años, 8 meses y 13 días o, lo que es lo mismo, está grabado en mi memoria desde hace 17275 días. En la segunda parte de esta entrada compartiré mi recuerdo, ahora, sin más, te dejo un pequeño formulario donde si te apetece puedes dejar el tuyo.
¡Gracias por adelantado!
Ir al formulario: enlace
Escucha el Episodio 4 de «El Cuidado en la Palabra»
El cuidado en la palabra 
Uno de mis primeros recuerdos es la cocina de mi abuela; Qué comidas me hacía y cuanto cariño me trasmitía!
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Gracias por compartir tu recuerdo, entrañable y evocador, sin duda, de maravillosos momentos.
Un abrazo!
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Dear José, I wrote and sent my first memory but it wasn’t accepted by Google… I didn’t understand. There is an explanation, it says «Never submit passwords through Google Forms. GoogleForms
This content is not created or endorsed by Google.» This morning I tried again, it happened same. I will try to share on here, in comment section. I wanted you to know this. Thank you, Love, nia
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Dear Nia, thanks a lot! I don’t understand Google because your memory was accepted. Anyway, thanks again for sharing in comments. 🤗🤗🤗
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My first childhood memory was from the early years of 60s in a town in Germany. I was a little girl. Not going to school yet. My father was working in a big factory as a mechanical engineer and my mother was working in a textile factory. They leave me to the owner of our house. All day long I was with her and with her family. She was so nice to me. She never left me alone. We are going for shopping, and even to the church too. I was sitting next to her and I pray as the others with the priest. And also at the lunch time, at the table I pray with all family before starting to eat. I was a little girl and I was doing what I see. But that night, when I was with my parents at the dinner. I stopped them. “please we should pray first”, I said. My father was surprised but he listened to me, open his hands (my mom too) started to pray but I was not doing like them… As a Christian I was praying. My father suddenly got mad and run to the owner of our house. When he told what happened at the dinner, her answer was like that, “sorry but I don’t teach her anything, she is so small and she learns everything easily, but you should teach her, what’s her religion. She should know.”…My father understood this very well. Then he taught me our religion and what I should make… It was so easy to learn and understand for me. After then, one day, again we were going to the church with the lady. As always we sat in the church and we were just starting to pray, I, a small girl, shouted, “please stop!” (by they way I was speaking german language as a native german child. Even I was a translator of my mom) The priest heard me, and looked at me, “Yes, My Little, what’s the problem? He asked me. I said, “I learned that I was a muslim. I have been praying for some days with you all as a christian, but now I want you all to pray like me, as a muslim!” People laughed. But the priest was very serious and he said, yes, she is right, let’s pray like her. Then everybody opened their hands and prayed like me. It was amazing moment. A few days later, at dinner table, my father told me something with a smiling face, “I heard today something, everybody talks this little girl in the town, she asked people to pray as her in the chuch,…” then he asked me, “I think I know this little girl…?”
After many years then, when I remember this memory, I feel same, what an amazing priest he was that I have met in my life. Still I love to visit church and to sit there… By the way I do believe in God but not in religions… But this is clear I am much closer to Christians.. On the other hand, today, can we find someone like this priest…?
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Dear Nia,
I am deeply grateful for your generosity in sharing this wonderful memory from your childhood. It’s a delightful and endearing story.
If that’s okay with you, I’d like to translate it into Spanish as best I can and share it in its entirety in my next post on «first memories» because it’s really fantastic.
A million thanks and a big hug.
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This memory is in my book too…. I dream to translate it into English… maybe one day. Thank you again, Love, nia
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you can translate dear José, sorry for google form, I don’t know but I can’t see the accept, it refused me. Thank you, Love, nia
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Quiero pensar que lo he mandado correctamente
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Seguro que sí jajaja Gracias!!!
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