For some reason, my most memorable memories are those in which I am getting in trouble. Perhaps the moments I remember most vividly are those in which I was having the most fun J Seeing as I now live in the very neighborhood I grew up in a mere 15-18 years ago (family graduate housing), I find myself having waves of deja vu quite frequently. I remember these moments with such detail that I can recall the tone changes in my mother’s exhausted voice as she reprehended me on this particular occasion. She had found me trying to start my own ant farm under the sheets of the bottom level of my bunk bed. I was in the living room, unaware of my mother’s whereabouts when I heard her shriek—followed by a loud and irritated “TIIIIIIIIAAA!” She rounded the corner and marched up the hallway entering into the living room. “Follow me young lady,” she managed to spit out as she whirled around, dragging me with her.
We entered my room, which at the time seemed a large enough playground (now I use this room as my office and it does not have nearly the footage I seem to remember). There was a big-bird toy on the ground that, when turned around, could house a book on tape if you removed the flap covering his rear end. Next to my bed stood a white painted desk my father had built for me and next to that my toy chest that had my birthday and name engraved into the wood (a birthday present from my grandfather).
My mother pulled down the sheets to my ruffled bed to expose my newest project: project ant farm. Intermixed with the dried dirt, worm and dandelion there were several ants scattering across my yellow sunflower printed sheets.
The funny thing about this memory is not what I remember, but rather what I don’t. For the life of me I cannot think of how my mother punished me or who had to clean up the mess, but I do remember the details leading up to the farm unveiling. Funny how our brain can selectively recall photos, videos, and short clips from the long documentary stored up there. How does it choose?
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