Earliest Memory

My earliest memory is of a washing machine that bites. I was 2 or 3 at the time. We lived on a farm with a few animals, one of which was a goose that enjoyed tormenting my older sister, Melody. On this fateful day I was sitting in the laundry room watching mom do the wash. Our washing machine was one of those old kinds with an electric ringer on top that squeezed the water out so clothes could then be hung out to dry. Evidently the goose was again chasing Melody, so mom ran to her rescue, leaving me alone with the machine. Like any dutiful son, I decided to help my mother with the laundry. I don't remember much, but I do remember sticking an article of clothing in the ringer and not being able to retrieve my arm. That darn thing wouldn't let go! I remember screaming for my mother and trying to pull away; thankfully, I remember nothing of the pain. But I do have a four-inch scar in my upper arm to remind me never to help my mother again!