Brief
I'm told, accurate recollection of your childhood is a sign of prodigy. This fascinates me because it suggests that memory is a conscious effort: if you're intelligent enough at such a young age to be consciously aware of your actions, you will remember more of it. Memories of my earliest childhood are comprised substantially of senseless crying and writing and drawing on walls with markers and impunity, but I know an ex-infant culinary conoisseur who dribbled unpalatable baby food out onto his bib and could have justified exactly why he did it, if he had possessed the necessary language at the time.
Oh, I'd continue that train of thought, but it's temporarily stopped at another station: is it possible to have thought without language? It seems to me that everything we do, think and say is processed through a filter of language. Everything.
I can't even think "I am thinking" without using language to think it.
I'm told, also, that a few weeks ago, a student plunged eleven storeys to his death after trying to win a spitting contest, by taking a running start that resulted in his accidentally vaulting himself off his balcony. The human race continues to astound me with its unparalleled genius.
I haven't energy to expound on any of these thoughts, but I will assure you that they are floating serenely around in my head, distracting my term-paper-writing attempts with beatific impunity.