Introduction

Often, memories of certain events stay with us not because those events do not repeat in our lives, but because they are unique when they happen in our lives for the first time. This is why we remember many of our childhood activities while memorable things in our later years are rare.

My first drive

I always had, and even now have, a passion for driving and I normally do not miss any chance that puts me in the driver’s seat of my car. Perhaps that is why my siblings never got to ride my father's vehicle when he would occasionally allow us to practice driving even though we were minors and not licensed to drive. My first stint at driving happened when my father allowed me to handle the steering while he took care to manipulate the pedals. Until that time I believed that driving was an easy task and that I could handle a car easily. In fact, I thought that merely turning the steering wheel was all that was needed to drive a car. My father put me on his lap and turned the ignition on. The surge of the engine was familiar to me but in my new position it sounded quite exhilarating. My father eased the car slowly when I was ready with the steering. Ten seconds later, I realized that driving was not an easy job. The car which seemed to behave so well when my father drove it seemed to have taken a sudden liking to our fences because it was swerving and turning to either side. For the first time I wanted to get out of the responsibility of managing a car. Even now the memory of that first try at driving makes me smile. When I hold the steering of my car these days, I remember that day when I just wanted to let go off the steering and jump to the backseat.

My stint at cooking

My mother always insisted that I learn to make a few dishes by myself so that I would be equipped and self reliant until I married. She was very particular of good and clean food and is a perfectionist as far as cooking is concerned. She managed to catch me on one of the Sundays and declared that I would make the food for the day while she would assist me in the kitchen. I had to decide on the menu and make them, while my mother would correct me whenever I was wrong. What started off as a relatively simple task soon deteriorated into a wrestle between me and the kitchenware particularly when mother was away on the phone or when someone was at the door. I dropped too much salt into the soup, got my fingers burnt when I lifted the hot kettle, put too much water in the dough that mother had to end up making food for double the number in our family and so on. It would suffice to say that at lunch everyone seemed to have a grudge against me for the stuff that I had made them for the day. Even now mother occasionally asks me to assist her in the cooking but she is careful to keep me at arms length from the kitchen when she is not supervising me.

My first flight

I was never fond of flying because of my natural fear for heights. So, when my company said that I needed to fly to a destination to meet an important client, my instinctive reaction was to find if I could reach there through some other means. The place was too far off and I had so little time, which meant that I had to take a flight. I tried all my persuasive skills to get someone else take care of the meeting , but it seemed that my boss was adamant that he would get me flying. The night before the flight, I had bad dreams of planes meeting with accidents and all those things that could make you sweat through the night. I cursed myself for seeing hijack dramas and actions films involving planes, and wished I never had seen them. Everything went well at the airport and soon the plane was taxiing through the runway. I could feel the huge plane shivering a little as it shot forward to the takeoff mark. I felt like being whisked away from the security of the ground, as the plane slowly started ascending. I looked at the fast receding runway and buildings and wanted to cry "mother". The lady beside me seemed to be so amused at my pale face and mumbled something to console me. The journey was only for an hour but I must say that it was the worse spent hour in my life. I sensed danger any minute and it seemed that the minute was made up of more than sixty seconds. Finally when the plane screeched on the runway, I wanted to yell "hurrah" but had to restrain myself. I had no time for niceties and was one of the first men outside the plane. I ensured that I traveled back in a car. Never have I been in a plane since then.