It’s strange how certain childhood memories stick out to you and they don’t fade. How you can look back at them like a photograph, because they’re burned into your brain so deeply that you can never forget them — no matter how hard you try.
Some make me angry, some sad. They must be important to my personality if I’ve remembered them for this long.
There’s a memory of climbing a tree with my sister, telling her excitedly when I reached the leaves. She told me it wasn’t a big deal, yet got more excited than I’d gotten when she reached the leaves. There were other people with us, people who’d barely acknowledged me when I’d gotten to the top but seemed genuinely interested when she did. It was my first taste of competition with my sister: Either she’d win and be praised, or I’d win and remain in obscurity.
There’s a memory of trying out my mom’s makeup with my cousin. While on vacation, I snuck into her bathroom and grabbed a bunch, and we put lipstick, eyeliner, and even mascara on our stomachs. We ruined a whole lot of stuff. I learned the dangers of casual destruction.
There’s a memory of a playground. When I was little, I liked to stay on the playground for as long as possible, and one school day, I decided I wouldn’t be going back inside with the rest of the class. After spending an inordinate amount of time trying to coax me back into the room, my…
