Childhood Memories

I can't remember the words from that day. I can hear the tone of the yelling and arguing. Even at the age of 4 I could sense the hatefullness being thrown around. I remember the sound of her hitting the kitchen floor. She hurt her elbow. Uh oh. Should I make my little brother follow me and hide in my room? Are we going to get hurt? No, we won't. I'm just going to talk in a really nice sweet voice and that will make them happy again.

I remember the police sitting on the front porch with my father. I knew something was very, very wrong. Why is my Dad in trouble? Surely not because they were yelling! They yell everyday. No, he's back in the house now. Everything will be okay.....

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Childhood days are most memorable inspite its ironic to few,innocent to many and harrasment to fewer..!
I was 3 year and few months old,i was very talkative and very naughty.
But inspite i was very keen observer,good listener.
My dad is very dynamic person.he is my inspiration,my inner spirit & my back bone in doing any things.

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We turn into the parking lot and search for a space. My mommy is upset already. “We are so late. Stick with me. I don’t have time to go looking for you.” I look up into her beautiful porcelain face and say “OK. Mommy.” She grabs my hand and we start walking quickly into the store. “Remember, stay with me. I have a lot to do and very little time. The last thing we will do is take care of you. After all it will take a long time it is a very long line. Are you sure you want to do this? I want you to enjoy this so lets finish shopping then we will take care of you OK.”
Again I look up and for one minute mommy looks like my doll. I don‘t know which question to answer so I just say “Yes, Mommy.”

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As a little boy, I lived in the mountains of Tennessee.

I only had my sisters to play with, and most of the time, I had to play by myself. I lived in a land of make believe and pretend. I loved to pretend that I was a wild Indian, running around the country, killing all the men and boys, and ravaging all the women and children.

Sometimes, mama would let me use her butcher knife, to cut myself a stick for a bow, and some more sticks to use for arrows. I already had my trusty sharp knife, made from a piece of wood. How could you scalp the men, if you never had a scalping knife? Making a bow and arrows wasn't really a problem. My problem, and the cause of many whippings, was aquiring the feathers to go on my arrows.

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America Remembered

As Peter walked to call on his new friend, Angelina, he chanced to see the town in a younger light, and so he ran his hand along a picket fence, counting heartbeats, running like a child, still carefully not stepping on the cracks of the sidewalk, then paused and noted the ants thriving in the furrows, and wondered at a tree that buckled the cement as it ever so gently tilted the walking plane. Somehow, a chestnut tree had survived the blight, presenting even more ancient notions—of tire swings hung from low branches, of a lemonade stand secure in the shade.

Out in the street, the back door of a bread wagon reopened again and released the fresh baked aroma. A grandmother came out with a handful of nickels and dimes, and, like a serf brought into modern times, bought that which would’ve taken her three hours to bake. On the steps of the houses rested newspapers and the ghostly images of the sturdy rounded bottles of clean white milk, compliments of Elsie the cow—truly a vision from the grazings of childhood.

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The first memories she has of her childhood go back to when she was about four years old. She recalls standing behind the fence in front of her grandparent’s home which sat in the last row of houses in the middle of the mountain. She stood there with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Her parents were going away in that big white monster on wheels. Why were they leaving her behind? She just couldn't understand. Her little mind couldn't quite comprehend that her parents were going away only for a short while. They were going away on vacation.

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