When assigned a task that involves memories as a teenager or child, it's hard for me to think of something suitable. I don't always remember things before I was about 20, and there are plenty of reasons for that. There are, however, some things that were constant enough in childhood that memories of their presence (if not memories of specific instances) are clear. And so when given the task of photographing a "childhood memory," there was one item that stood out to me. I knew what I needed to photograph.
When I was born, my great-grandmother made this blanket for me. As I got older, I realized that she made a number of similar blankets for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren until we either grew too numerous or she grew too tired. My sister has a blanket, also made by Great-Grandma, but it is different: pinks and squares much smaller, not a long, perfect nap sized blanket of children around the world.
I love this blanket. When I went away to college, this blanket came with me. It, along with another blanket my mother gave me for college, have followed me everywhere. They are old and tattered, but well-loved. The people in this blanket are missing pieces of hats or jumpers, but the seams are still solid, a miracle after so many decades.
Perhaps this blanket is one of the reasons I quilt for new babies. I want them to know that someone loved them -- or even the idea of them -- so much that the love was poured into something timeless, something they can keep forever. And after all, everyone needs a nap blanket.