I worry that my memories are slipping away, or at least enough of the details that I’m no longer sure how accurate they are. Today’s post is simply the result of sitting quietly and trying to remember.

  1. We were living on Maple Avenue so I must have been under 5 years old. I thought it would be funny to pretend I was hiding behind the long curtains by putting my shoes at the bottom, poking out, but really I hid behind the chair in the corner. There was fake alarm (“oh I really do wonder where he is”) and then real alarm. I couldn’t keep it going for very long. Never could. It’s hard hearing people in panic.
  2. When I was at Gorse Hill nursery, I didn’t really like vegetables. The rule was that you couldn’t go out onto the playground until you ate them all though. I ate them, slowly, but most of the time I took so long that playtime was over. The lunch lady noticed and would sit with me until I finished—chatting to me about nothing, encouraging my progress, and celebrating joyfully when I was done.
  3. One of the few times that I did make it onto the playground, my sister came running over to me. She excitedly told me that we’d been invited to a birthday party by her friend, who followed her over. I remember beaming with pride before the other girl said “not him—he can’t come”. It was a weird sort of pain, and I don’t think I’d felt it before. I didn’t usually get invited, but I didn’t get rejected, either.
  4. When we were living on Perdiswell Street—I must have been around 5 years old now—I got some firetruck-themed, light-up trainers. They lit up when your foot struck the ground, so I’d run up and down the street over and over before twisting my body to make sure that they were flashing as promised. I felt so lucky to have them, and didn’t ever think about the batteries running out (which they did… quickly).
  5. At around the same age (same house), my mom liked listening to Right Said Fred, and in a music video I’d seen he did this thing where he sort of span around and got lower to the ground. In the summer we’d lay a tarp out and run water over it with the hose. I’d pretend to be Right Said Fred for hours, spinning around until I was dizzy. For some reason I thought he was cool—he seemed free of worry.