Little Fuzzy

Anyone else remember being born? Yea me neither. My memory starts around the age of 3 or 4, those really are just snip-it’s of my life then. I don’t remember everything. Like I can remember a time in daycare where my mom was bending down on one knee and talking to me about something, but what I remember was wanting to do what she was doing in that moment. I wanted to be an adult and talk to my children exactly how she was talking to me. Or how the day care added a building in the back and that is where the kitchen and lunchroom was, and how it reminds me of the banana flavored antibiotics you would get as a child. Yea more on that in a bit.

The memory is funny. Why is it that trauma stays in our memory longer than the good memories? I know there is a scientific answer to that, but I’m not looking for a psychology lesson. I can’t remember the first time I enjoyed playing outside, but I can remember the time we had a hailstorm with hail stones the size of grapefruits. It was a warm summer day, and I was playing in my room, when my mom tells me come in the dining room and get under the table as it is hailing outside. My mother is some what terrified of bad storms like that. So I did as she told me, and shut my bedroom door, which was not really a door but one of those bifold doors for like a closet. As soon as I shut the door and got under the table my bedroom window SHATTERED into a dozen small pieces, some of which were coming out from under the door. The sound of the stones hitting the roof and the house were really muffled by the sounds of my screaming for my mother and father to get under the table with me. Growing up I was always terrified that I would watch my mom and dad being sucked up by a tornado while I was fine. Although that time it was just a hailstorm. I remember after it was over and looking out over the yards, and it looked like it had just snowed. My bedroom window was busted all out, my mom’s brand-new truck was beat all to hell, my father’s old 78 had one little ding and his taillight was busted. Mom’s truck looked like a woman scorned just caught her man cheating and decided to beat the truck with a baseball bat. I mean it was beat up! Her truck was a new 1995 Ford Ranger. Extended cab with the side back seats. I remember sitting in the seat trying to see out of the windshield and it looked like a spider web. Mom was so mad. Like I said memory is a funny thing. That is not fuzzy at all, but most of my childhood is fuzzy.