an early memory: ethical dilemma #1

[Still in draft form. This may need some work.]

What we know about our early selves often comes from our elders. Few people have clear and cogent memories of  themselves as babies or toddlers. Often we've heard stories about what we were like as infants or seen photos, and together those  become "memories" of who we were as little acorns. I know well the story of me playing my first ever joke on someone because my mother has shared it with me several times. Apparently, my mother was hurriedly trying to get two children under the age of 18 months all dressed and out of the house. I had hidden one of my shoes and then when my mom asked me where my shoe was, I toddled into the bathroom smiling and pointing and saying "toilet" (or whatever my language for that thing was at that age). As the story goes, my mom panicked and went running in to look. When she looked and nothing was in there, I started laughing. And then I went and got my other shoe from my bedroom.

I know well the story of how my mother found me pacing in the hallway with worry at my grandmother's house when she came to pick me up to bring me home after my second sister was born (I was 3 and a half years old and my grandmother had told me I had to help my mother as the "oldest" of three). Again, I know this about myself because my mom has told me the story. Actual memories kick in around age 4 and 5, and those memories seem to be associated with sheer joy, pain, or dilemma. This makes sense to me based on the limited knowledge I possess about the brain and learning/memory and emotion.

A couple of weeks ago I attended a two-day Ethics Institute on my campus. Working in my small group on some case studies, the memory of my first ethical dilemma came bubbling up. It wasn't exactly the classic Heinz dilemma, but in its own way, illustrated similar reasoning for when a person breaks rules in order to mitigate against (perceived) harm. My colleague and friend Kathy encouraged me to write it down, and why not? I have a blog after all. This is a place for musings, so here goes.

My youngest sibling was born with a minor, correctable problem with his feet/legs. When he was a baby, and I was nearly five, he first had to wear plaster casts to help his feet turn outwards and up. The casts didn't seem to bother him too much because he had some mobility while lying in his crib or sitting up.  After the casts, he was outfitted with special hard-soled baby shoes that were mounted on the bottom of either end of a maybe 12 inch steel bar. In the middle of the bar was a screw that could set for the angle necessary for keeping his feet apart and turned out. The screw, when tightened and when the shoes were laced up kept his little legs immobile. I imagine this felt like . . . not pain, but a constraining and immobilization when he wanted to kick and move. He had to wear this contraption for so many hours per day, and I actually think, overnight.

I remember my baby brother crying when he would be put in his shoe-brace. I remember my mother telling me (and presumably my two younger sisters) that this was good for the baby and was going to help him. She told us this wasn't hurting him and to not worry. I remember her telling us not to touch the brace because it was set "just so," and I remember thinking that there was no way this wasn't bothering this little baby. Even though I knew I had been specifically told not to, I distinctly remember sneaking into his room on several occasions when he was lying in his crib and loosening the screw in the middle of the steel brace so that he could move a bit more. I remember my sisters and I stroking his head and arms to sooth his crying. I also remember my mother saying after one of these episodes that she didn't know how in the heck this child was loosening the brace! (She recently told me that my brother made regular progress at his check ups, so either he didn't need all that brace time or the time he had was sufficient . . . ). As it turns out, he was not only "fine," he went on to become a gifted athlete in high school, college, and even beyond college traveling the world on an Olympic and World Cup teams.

Did I think then that I did the right thing by breaking the rule that had been set in front of me? Yes, I think nearly five-year-old Nan reasoned it out. I made a decision in my young brain and heart that just because my mother said something was good and right didn't mean that it necessarily was. I loosened the screw because it seemed like the "more right" thing to do at the time. I did have a bit of guilt and some inner struggle, and I think that is why I remember this so clearly. I only confessed to this "crime in the name of something more important" years later. The fact remains that the brace may have been the more right thing after all. I guess we'll never know. The good news is that my mom laughed pretty hard and it all worked out well.

Post script,  There are a few other early memories in the bin. Early on in the history I wrote about sneaking under the Christmas tree at age five or so when everyone was asleep. Perhaps another time I will tell the story of the events that occurred in the hospital just prior to my tonsillectomy at age 4 or lying to the priest in the confessional at age 7 or 8 (so that I was doing the sacrament of First Confession correctly, you know?) Like this story of the first ethical dilemma, these early memories are not just "everyday" occurrences. They are the ones seared in by powerful emotional reaction - joy, pain, angst, shame. I'll bet even if you don't think you have many early memories, if you think back to your earliest memories, they may bring you back to some time, some emotion worth revisiting.