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memories There's been a lot of talk lately about how this terrorist attack on America is affecting kids, and it got me thinking about what my first memories were. I mean, I was five years old when the war in Vietnam ended, and I didn't know until I was in high school that Vietnam occurred in my lifetime. So, I'm going to babble a bit about my early childhood memories. Some are good, some aren't, one is a little scary in retrospect. My earliest memory was when I was like two years old...I was at my Grandparents' house in Michigan, and I was playing with my Grandma. I was pretending to be an Avon lady. Grandma Rose had given me a dish basin full of empty bottles, and I kept ringing her doorbell (her doorbell went "ding-dong" just like it should have) from the porch and she would open the door and say, "Yes? Hello?" and I would say "Hi, I'm the Avon Lady, would you like to buy this?" and she would say "Oh, of course." And pretend to buy my bottle. She did this until I had "sold" her my entire basin of bottles. My Grandma was great. When I was four years old, my older brother was in school and my mom volunteered at that school as an assistant librarian, so I was able to check out books there. I think I may have told this story before on this diary, but I'll tell it again. I wanted to check out two books, one was a joke book, and the other was something else...I don't remember what. The Librarian on duty was very mean to me and told me I could only check out one book. I chose the joke book, and went home and told my mom what had happened. Before I knew it, the Principal of the school called a meeting, and asked me to read out loud from one of the "Little House on The Prarie" books...and I did. We moved from one house to another, and I remember one day that I didn't know which house my mom would be at...I remember looking at her across Campbell Avenue, a fairly busy street, and her begging me to just stay put until she could there. Before that, when I used to walk home to the old house, I remember this guy who was always outside his house, and he would say to me, "look at this"...he would jack off in front of me. I didn't get it at the time...I just remember seeing this whitish stuff coming out of his thing. I didn't even get what was going on. He never touched me. I was so scared, I always watched without saying a word. He would tell me, "you can go home now" and I would run home. That's a pretty fucked up story for the diary, sorry. It's just my memories. Miss These?
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