Write about your first childhood memory.
I am standing on the sidewalk outside my first house in DeWitt, Michigan. There was a parade rolling by that showcased bright red fire trucks, flag twirlers, pets in wagons, toothy local politicians and marching bands. I remember edging closer to the street and my mother repeatedly yelling at me to get back in the yard. I wanted to be in the parade. I wanted my sister to be pulling me in that over-sized Radio Flyer wagon with streamers dangling behind. Or I wanted to be riding in that shiny new convertible like one of those long Cadillac red convertibles. That day was the first time I saw a convertible.
I mainly remember things that happened outside my first house. I cannot tell you what my room looked like or what kind of furniture was on the screened-in front porch. I remember the gravel driveway and our neighbor’s brown long-haired American Cocker Spaniel chained up to their garage. Regardless of weather, I was usually found sitting next to him and always hated getting in our Chevy leaving him sitting there. Most of my vivid memories are like home-video images of that dog growing from the backseat.
I was an only child then. We lived in a 2 story white house in Bellefonte, PA across the street from a lime mine. It must have been autumn, the leaves were nearly gone, the colors were draining from out of doors. The colors indoors were that of burnt oranges, brick reds, and cornucopia yellows- the colors of my mother's Thanksgiving decorations. My father was sitting at the dining room table cleaning a bird. He must have been preparing it for my mother to cook. I was standing at the doorway staring at him. The smell or sight of it was making me dry heave. This was a fairly common reaction of mine at the time. But for some reason I couldn't stop looking, even though the convulsions just kept getting worse and my pop kept telling me to leave before I actually produced some sick there on the floor. After repeated attempts on his part to get me to take my leave of the preparation of a meal I'm sure I ate for dinner, he held the skin from the bird in his pitching arm as threat. As the slimy bird skin came whizzing at me I turned away, so as not to take it in the face. It stuck to my back as I retreated, running through the house screaming and on the edge of vomiting. Did I mention I was also shirtless? I never did throw up.
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