How far back is your earliest memory?

In support of a modern physician's perspective on the effects of marijuana, I have no clue what I was doing yesterday at this time. I can't remember if I saw your number on the ID of my phone. I can't actually remember what I was walking into the other room for and why there is a pen covered in wax on my nitestand and why the heck is the light on in the hallway again?

But I pioneeringly propose that short term memory loss not be seen as an unwanted and often embarrassing side effect of euphoric herbal ingestion. Rather perhaps, short term memory loss is the secret to true happiness.

My short term memory is blindfolded in the back of a passenger bus – we still get to Colorado, we just have no idea how. My long term memoirs though – watch out – are hovering on the moon making maps of Universal history for God’s remodeling plans. I mean, get this: I can remember counting Easter eggs shades of spring flowers from behind white crib bars. I also remember the way the people's feet sounded on the second story apartment stairs from my apartment below – I moved from that home when I was 2.

And somehow, if I really put some effort into it, I am convinced I can remember things before I had words to describe them. What if I could go back and have an actual memory of that warm, dark cave. What if there is a memory before that?

My long term memory is challenging my simple earthly happiness, but like an avalanche gaining momentum, the motion is addictive. I am endlessly curious, I love to learn and heck, I am good at this long term memory shit, so why not feature your assets:

I can remember watching television standing up. I was very very small. I saw two young black men on a show they called Star Search (the old skool series) and those two young seemed really alive, more than any other person I had seen on the screen, and they wore matching white suites and their skin was so so black.

This is how I remember it from 3 years old at least. So intelligent. So honest.

Those men in the matching white suites danced and made sounds with their feet - nice sounds. Their aliveness and those nice sounds made my feet move, too. They danced without music. The nice sounds were the music.

My mom caught me grovin and said, “Tonya, do you want to take tap lessons?” I started tap dancing when I was 4 years old - only one year older than Shirley Temple. When my shoes were the size of a deck of cards, and my little tiny taps already sounded nice, I imagined I was a lot like Shirley Temple, indeed…

Chicago, IL hosts The Human Rhythm Project, an phenomenal annual tap festival where famous hoofers perform and give class and create community. I was getting schooled in a master class by Dan The Man Porter, after he had taken a Polaroid of us together, written his digits on the bottom of is, and handed it to me saying how “good we look together”. He taught me everything I know about a shuffle in one week and he told a little story about how in the day, he and his tap partner snuck two costumes from racks backstage and barged out on the Star Search stage before they were anyone doing anything. They just riffed off of each other, hoofer improv style, and of didn’t even use any musi. They danced a capella.

Today I just got out of a tap class with my favorite tap choreographer, Amanda Leise, and well ... I can't remember if I ever thanked my mom and dad enough for just throwing me in tap dance lessons at age 4. They didn't know. I didn't know. But little kids have to try. And the more chance you give them to love something, the more things they will discover they really love. And shouldn't a kid have a basket of things to love that they can choose from or not even have to make a choice. Just have it all. Just have everything. Just die with a store house of beautifully connected, fully appreciated memories. Now if I could figure out how that light got turned on in the hallway again.

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