I got it from my mama.

I was remembering this last night.
The time my mom taught me how to vacuum. [Why did she have to teach me that? Was I seriously that attention-seeking? "MOM I need to learn how to vacuum. I don't understand the functions of the machinery, I am concerned about the vestiges of daily use that are partying on my forest green carpet! Don't you care?? Please stop feeding the other children or otherwise neglecting me and teach me to maneuver this cleaning device already!"]
I remember: We got the vacuum out from the under-the-stairs cupboard. With mounting nerves, I placed myself in the center of my bedroom and apprehensively watched as she demonstrated how to connect it to the outlet, turn the vacuum around just so, and hold the neatly-unwound cord in the left hand with the slack in a pile behind. She flipped the switch, and I, nodding and swallowing took my place behind it as it roared menacingly.
I remember: "This feels like a workout. My arm hurts. People vacuum their entire houses? I'm only vacuuming once a month when I'm older. Is it harder to vacuum with your left hand?"
I remember: It took me a ridiculous amount of time to vacuum the whole room. I think I did it one row at a time, like a lawnmower perhaps.
I remember: She stood by while I vacuumed the last spot, under the bed. In fact, she stood right near me, and I accidentally vacuumed her toes.
I remember: She didn't react. No jumping back or hopping around. I was focusing so intently on the floor, that I didn't see her flinching face, but I felt her toes being sucked into the vacuum. I looked up at her with incrimination, and yelled over the roar, "did I just vacuum your toes?!"
I remember: She just smiled and nodded.
I remember: "She loves me, she really loves me!"

I believe I was seven years old.