Memories are crazy things. They are in most ways unlike any physical object that could be used in an analogy. They are at times fluid, solid or gas. They exist as data, furtive electrons but also spiritual nuances, emotional bindings and physical sensations. In summation, I'm amazed, overjoyed, perplexed and annoyed by their persistence --and sometimes by their furtiveness. For instance, I can't recall for you at this moment the exact sound and tone of my son's voice. But I can recall the color and texture of the walls in the hospital where my little brother was born 27 years ago.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. My earliest memories are of the events of the birth of my little brother, Jonathan L. Arconati. But as preface, I should really give a bit of background before that and go back to my own birth. I don't want to break down my entire family tree, but I'll at least introduce my parents.