I don’t have much memories from when I was young — only fragments or scenes. My first memory is when I was 2 or 3 when my mother broke her leg while we were walking down a flight of stairs.

There is a scene I remember when I was getting off from a tram with my mother and my maternal grandfather.

Commonly called “banana,” “camel,” or simply “that tram from Hannover.” Bought used in 2001 to nowadays from the Dutch and the Germans.

It was an old tram, a TW 6000, which had steps and an elevated travelling area because it could also be used as an subway car. Above ground the steps transformed from a wall to stairs while the doors were open.

And the steps were moving just a little bit. I was stepping off the last step when my leg hit the edge of the step (a lip that bulged up) and I tripped and hit the concrete face forward. I cried, but nothing really happened, no blood. Small children fall small distances. Then, like a returning joke my mother said the same thing she said when I — or allegedly my older sister — tripped and fell:

Did you find something?

Obviously, because if a sub 10 years old child finds something laying on the concrete ground while getting off the tram, he gets real close to it in a falling fashion.

That sarcastic bastard.

(P.S. I love my mother)

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