We’ve had a dry spell and the pots of flowers in the patio were drooping. I had a few minutes between zoom calls and went out to water them. The garden hose was not neatly coiled (no one’s fault but my own), but in a heap on the flagstones. I turned on the faucet and grabbed the nozzle and pulled it to reach the thirsty plants. It tightened into a tangle. Water was spurting everywhere, and I just kept pulling and yanking at the mass, angry at the reality and unwilling to do anything constructive about it. Just before I screamed a profanity, a story my mother used to tell flashed into my mind.

I was 2 years old and had a little tricycle that I loved. It had three wheels, but no pedals. I sat on the seat and moved by walking my feet, rolling through the house, in and out of rooms, cruising on the wood floor. I can almost hear the sound of my feet shuffling along, the wheels turning. I can almost feel the pride and satisfaction of being independent and mobile. What a big girl I was! And then, as my mother told many times, I would go through a doorway, maybe from the hall into a bedroom, and the back wheel would catch on the door jamb. I cut the corner too close. But instead of backing up, which I knew how to do, and giving a wider berth to the door jamb, I kept pushing and pushing, banging into the obstruction, as if I could make it move by my sheer anger and stubbornness. Finally, I would scream in a rage and she would come and rescue me.

It’s obvious why that story popped into my head as I pulled at the hose, insisting that it straighten itself out. That toddler Lucy was alive and well in this frustrated aging body. We grow up, we mature, we lead full lives and learn many lessons that help us be productive, avoid danger, find mates, survive and hopefully thrive. But we do not leave behind those traits from the earliest years, for better or worse.

My mother told another story from about the same period. I am verbal but just barely. She and a neighbor are sitting on the front porch talking about the neighbor’s new puppy and the slippers that it recently destroyed. “Maybe you should get a bone for the puppy to chew instead,” my mother suggested to her friend. I remember the sudden rush of realizing I could solve this problem! I jumped up and ran inside the house and came back with an enormous bone, probably from a cow or even a moose. It was ancient, gray and dry and sat on a book shelf as an artifact. I proudly presented it to the neighbor. I have a dim memory of two strong feelings, two truths: I am so smart and I am so helpful. And then the bubble burst. My mother and her friend doubled up laughing and shame took over. That shame creeps in even now, as I write about it. But I also take pride in those motivations that propelled me to act back then, and still drive me today. Just as I can be outrageously stubborn, yanking at a garden hose, I am also deeply motivated to help people…with whatever is handy… hopefully not an old bone.

I would love to hear where this idea takes you. Have you got iconic stories from your early years that previewed who you became? Can you still feel that little person inside at certain moments, driving you down a familiar path? If so, be kind to them. They’ve been with you since the beginning and they’re doing their best.