I wasn't going to share this story, because I can't verify it's truth, but I suppose that doesn't matter because it's MY truth, so here goes:
#3
My mom told me that when I was about a year old, she wanted to end her life. In the middle of one night, she acted on the impulse and got her in car. As she sped toward a freeway underpass, planning to smash headlong at full speed into the giant cement wall, she happened to look into her rearview mirror.
Why look back there when the road was deserted? Why look back at all, when the end was so near?
And in that moment, she saw a tiny arm stretched up in a yawn.
She slammed on the brakes in a desperate effort to avoid hitting the wall and thus ending my life, along with hers. She had no problem with taking her own life, but could not bring herself to end mine in the process.
My thought on that was that she was willing to leave me without a mother, and with a father who never wanted me, but she wouldn't go so far as to physically take my life.
Nevertheless, she lived, as did I. She claimed she had no idea how I got into the backseat--that she did not put me there. She felt it was a miracle and that I had saved her life. She vowed that she would never leave me until I was grown.
#4
My Dad left when I was about four years old. He really didn't take an active role in my life--I can only remember seeing him a handful of times through my whole life.
But seriously! I am not going to make all of these depressing!
So, I wanted to tell you about my brothers and their enabling of my dinky car obsession.
My brothers had this coolest thing going on, or should I say, I had a cool thing going on: Every time they would go to the store, they would bring me back dinky car.
Before long, I had a wicked collection going on! I don't think I liked dolls much until I was at least eight years old--I was all about the cars. I still love the little things!
#5
One of my brothers, Brian (the youngest, about ten years older than me,) loved motorcycles. He got his first motorcycle when I was somewhere between the ages of 6 and 8. I remember he would take it apart, laying out all the pieces very carefully, and then polish them to a high gleam. Then he would painstakingly reassemble the whole thing. A process I still find mind boggling.
But occasionally, his love for his bike would spread to me and he would take me along for a ride. I remember these little outings as the glory days of my youth.
Here's a pic of my big bro nowadays--still lovin' his bikes. Except now he takes his other two girls (wife and daughter) for rides. Boo hoo.
#6
Another favorite memory from my childhood is how I spent my summers around the ages 7 to 10 or 11. I would put on elaborate plays with my friends in my back yard.
Somewhere in the mess of things I have left over from my childhood, there's this great picture of me (Juliet), lying 'dead' on my picnic table while a neighbor boy (Romeo), decked out in radiant parents-closet royal garments, 'thrusts' his blade into his chest. Ahh, I remember the moment well. We were fabulous.
I'm not sure who watched us do these little plays. I'm pretty sure I roped my sister into watching more than she would have cared to. But I also think my cat was a regular audience member too.
No matter, those were good times, good times.
