My name is Gregory, and this is my very first life memory, which was age three. A lot of people dispute that I can remember things from that age, but these are vivid, vivid memories…and they all center around the house I lived in as a child, which was at 3339 Blue Ridge Boulevard. My mother had been away for at least a week delivering my baby brother. It was the first time I'd really been separated from her, so it was rather traumatic for me. I didn't really understand or grasp the concept of "the baby, the baby's coming, my mother was pregnant." It didn't mean anything to me…all I knew was my mother was gone, and then my grandparents (who were staying with us) informed me that she would be coming back today.

So on this day, I wanted to look my best for my mother, and I remember going into the bathroom and it was all yellow tile and white walls. And I wanted to part my hair. I wanted to comb my hair and part it for my mother so I would look my best. I had no idea how to comb my hair properly. So I took a comb and I rubbed it back and forth where I thought a part should be, essentially in my mind, creating that line, which, it would have been a lot easier just to comb my hair. But I was three. Then I sat on the porch of our house, which was just a concrete stoop. And I just waited for hours and hours for that blue car to pull in the driveway. All I cared about was that my mother was coming home. And then, sure enough, they drove in. I was ecstatic. Ran to the car to greet my mother.

There was such chaos, you know, bringing the baby…the baby held no interest for me, my little brother. But I do recall in our dining room, they had set up a bassinet, just, I believe to receive visitors because there was a lot of people in and out that day. And so they set up a crib in our dining room. And the dining room had these gorgeous, I don't know if they're a French doors, but they had at least 48 panes per door. They were all individually paned glass. It was basically a wall of glass, but the doors opened onto a screened in porch and it flooded the room with so much light. I remember the light of that room that they placed the baby in the crib. And I looked at him for about 10 seconds and was like "Meh." And I was done.

My mother was home, I didn't really need to be bothering her or in her presence. All was right in the world with me. And I knew I could go outside and play now. And that life was alright. And the last visual memory I have of that was in the kitchen way up high, on top of the refrigerator…remember I was three, that was really high up…there were cases of these cans, which I now know were baby formula. And it was Similac formula. And on the can on each one, there was a sleeping infant, vertically on the cans. And so I knew that had something to do with that child that was now entering my life. But, as I said, my mother was home. All I cared about was that. And I went outside and played.