(Prologue)
There is no doubt that our lives are made up of our travels in time, and what kind of person we become depends on our experiences in them. Our three views are based on the experiences of who we met during our time travel, what we did, what kind of criticism we received when we made mistakes, what kind of praise we received for doing a good job, what kind of education we received, what kind of character friends we made, what books we touched, what music we listened to, what kind of faith we entered, what kind of family we lived in, what school we went to, what my dreams were, and so on, and I wanted to find out through some of the memories I can remember in my thirty years. How I became who I am today.
(i) Falling into the cradle
It was a topic I would often argue with my mother after I was a teenager, and the point of the debate was about the authenticity of my memory. The cause of the matter is this, when I was still in the nest basket, the nest basket was in northern Jiangsu in my infancy, made of wicker or bamboo, put some wheat and quilt, put the child in it, and shake it on the ground, probably a more popular coaxing artifact at that time. I distinctly remember that my neighbor's sister, who was two or three years older than me, tried to pick me up, but because she didn't have enough strength, she didn't hold me and threw me in the nest basket. And the reason why I had an argument with my mother was that I was too young to remember at all, and everyone's concept was that children would not begin to have memories until they were about three years old, and in my head when I was less than a year old, how could I remember what happened to me at that time, and my mother also stressed that she had told me about this matter, "Maybe your memory and real feelings are confused, which will lead to you thinking that the things I told you are your own true memories." Of course, although this statement sounds a little unreasonable to me, it also has a certain credibility for the mother herself. And the reason why I insisted that my own memory talent made me remember this thing was because I not only remembered this incident, but my eyes looked at the way my sister tried to pick me up, and the feeling of my back when I fell back into the basket, and the expression on her face when she had some panic and immediately walked away, these clear things in my mind, the feeling that I would only have after experiencing an event, it was difficult to persuade me to give up insisting and accept my mother's point of view, to accept that this is not my memory, Rather, it is a memory bias towards the narration of reality.
Over time, everyone laughed at my persistence, but I still insisted that I myself seemed to have become indifferent to whether everyone believed or not, but my father finally sincerely chose to believe and recall to me when he once again listened to my emphatic account of this matter, and everyone thought that remembering this thing itself was an incredible thing, I seemed to have received an encouragement, and I seemed to have found a confidant in this world, and this person turned out to be my father.
Of course, my mother still stands by her to this day. This argument itself does not have much meaning, nor does it bring conflict, but what led me to think is that if I have such a clear memory when I am the size of a bean, then when we face very young children, the words we say and do will have a certain objective impact on them.