This is the Rube Goldberg machine of collecting and posting first memories:
One’s memory spoken verbally,
Listened to,
Stored in another’s memory,
Typed as a sentence into a spreadsheet,
Copied and pasted as a text prompt, and
Outputted as this AI generated image …

... crawling. There was a record player with 78’s playing on it. People were dancing. And all I could see was their legs and feet.
Even as the memory fades, something about the message survives the jumping.
We can feel its residue.
So true. I feel the residue of my own first memory less and less as I talk about it more and more!