Rachel
There was a night early in my childhood when I was certain my mother was going to commit suicide.
There was a night early in my childhood when I was certain my mother was going to commit suicide.
My grandpa choked up as he said, "House plants grow better when the house is filled with love, and I've never seen the house plants grow as well as they have since you moved in a year ago."
When I was 10-years-old, I gave my mom a note that said, "You are a bich!" and she laughed and showed me my mistake.
After that dream, I never saw Ronald McDonald the same again.
When I picked up my black grandfather from a white woman's house running down the fire escape holding his pants up, I realized I had an interesting childhood.
When I was a little girl, I used to feel bad for the sock I didn't put on first, so I would tell it nice things and switch whether I put on my right sock or my left sock on daily.
The day my Mother accidentally left my little brother at the dog pound gave me the only self-esteem boost I would ever need.
I was bitter that it was my favourite cup that broke when he threw it at my mum.
As the actor dressed in the Minnie costume stepped on my sandaled four-year old foot after I asked for an autograph I never received, I realized that Disneyland was not "The Happiest Place on Earth" after all.
One of my most vivid memories as a child was kicking my brothers privates, not because I was mad at him, but because I was curious if the men in the movies really felt the pain.
When I was three, I thought my mom's hot curling iron was a popsicle.
I've slept with a fan on every night for the past 13 years, 7 months, and 14 days.
As a child, I used to put every single one of my teddy bears around me on my bed before going to sleep thinking that I would be safe from the monsters that way.
I'd secretly made the ramp higher than agreed, and as I watched my brother's bicycle land on top of him, I realized with growing panic that he was definitely going to tell on me.
I never thought I could become immune to watching my boys drink water out of the dog's bowl.
My little brother thinks that he is a super hero because he is convinced he can poop the alphabet.
When I asked my son how hitting his brother in the eye could be "an accident," he replied, "I was trying to hit him in the nose."
As I woke up from my nap to find written on my feet "This is my momma and you can't have her," I realized that my child is very, very strange.
I can't tell what's worse: the death of the boy who pulled down his underwear in front of me in the first grade or feeling terrible every time I tell people about the first time I ever saw a penis.
There is a gerbil buried in a backyard somewhere in a purple Pog case shaped like a coffin.
My dad slammed the balsa-wood battleship he spent 1000 hours building against the wall when he had found we kids ruined it by floating it in the rain water.
When my 8-year-old niece came home from her friend's birthday party and assured me that she did not drink any beer, I knew something was very wrong with our culture.
It always brings a smile to my face when my dad tells large groups of strangers how he once cut himself on Jello.
I never really believed my mom's stories of how abusive her childhood was until two days ago when my grandmother pulled me aside and quietly informed me that she wished she had never ever adopted that nasty little irish girl.
The wanting to kill myself first began when I was told there was a heaven and that my older brother was there.
After finding out her grandfather was in the army, my daughter asked "Was he with the green guys or the tan guys?"
When I was little I thought the "f" word was "fart" because I wasn't allowed to say it.
Imagine my surprise when my kindergarten deskmate tapped my on the shoulder only to vomit his afternoon milk and snack all over me.
As I lay on the ground clutching my ankle, I wished my favorite super hero had not been one with the power of flight.
As soon as I heard that the guy who sexually molested me as a child had been put in jail after 8 years, I felt as if a ton of bricks had been lifted off my heart.
I had to go to the hospital in the 7th grade after I fell off my bike because the sombrero I was wearing to block the sun blew off and I instinctively reached back to grab it and lost balance.
On my thirteenth birthday my parents gave me the best toys money could buy, and then in a moment of playful distraction they broke down and announced: "We are not your biological parents."
Each time I buckle my young daughters life jacket, I can still see her mom, running, screaming across the sand as they try and revive her.
The day he beat me into unconsciousness was the day I learned to lie to my mom.
A sleepover is a bad idea when your parents have really loud sex.
I stole a ring from a souvenir shop because I didn't know what money was.
I think my dad realized I would never take out the garbage again when the trash bag he told me to pick up turned out to be a three-foot-long snake coiled up in a corner.
The sadness and disappointment in my father's voice once I told him I killed the crab moved me to tears.
I was 7-years-old when I learned to ride a bike, all the while humiliated as my 5-year-old brother literally rode circles around me.
To my ten year old brain, wearing a homemade, dangling fork necklace was a great idea, until I knelt down and jabbed myself in the leg.
I still have the two huge dictionaries that my mother beat me with as a child.
My childhood finally made sense when I saw a cross dresser walk down the street and realized that that was my dad.
By the age of eight I had decided that my worst fear in life would be to ever get haemorrhoids, and I even spelt it right as I wrote it on my grade 3 paper.
I was so disappointed when I learned Santa was Mom and Dad, but I am so excited now that Santa is me.
I giggled at my high school graduation when I realized the boy I was walking beside to our seats was the same boy that held my hand at the roller rink in second grade.
In fifth grade, a classmate asked me to pull down my pants and when I did, he just pointed, laughed, and walked away.
Everything became clearer as I looked through old school projects and saw I listed the school librarian under the category of "best friend."
I was only five and he was seven, but we were responsible.
It was only appropriate that the one day that I, the most gullible student in the fourth grade at the time, did not believe a ridiculous story that someone told me was that day in September when the world changed forever.
I lit the gasoline-soaked, freshly-cut branches with a lighter that was about five feet too short.
As the vomit crawled up my throat I suddenly realized I was holding the barf bag upside down.
I hadn't seen her in twelve years, but my heart still broke when I saw her picture on CNN with "Missing" underneath it.
If my exasperated mother hadn't set me straight, I'd probably still think that cold turkey helped people quit smoking.
I used to want to be a writer when I grew up, until I learned the word "poverty."
When I was four, I ran my dads car into a brick wall in a supermarket parking lot.
Yesterday my five year old told me that he found out at school that Heaven is full of dead people.
On Mother's Day, I remember when my mother told me that if she had known about abortion in 1946 I wouldn't be here.
Because he slept on the top bunk, my brother always called me "the monster under the bed."
I think the imaginary friend I had when I was in elementary school wanted to spend more time with me then my boyfriend does.
At six-years-old my friends passed around a discarded, lit cigarette smoking it perfectly while I couldn't take a drag properly no matter how hard I tried.
Yesterday my four-year-old married his "girlfriend" and they shared a fruit muffin as their wedding cake.
My mother forgot to wash the pans between courses, resulting in cherry pie that tasted vaguely of fish, but it was still the best birthday ever.
I haven't seen my abusive brother since I was 10 and he just found me on myspace.
Now that I am raising my own children, it is even harder to understand my father's decision to opt out.
The support of the third grade class was striking, as the second grade's "Tinkerbell" died in silence.
Being mocked incessantly, every day, by your peers from the age of seven or so to the age of sixteen, changes you into the kind of person who can't muster up the courage to call a girl who might be willing to go out with you.
The first day I walked into six grade was the last day I was optimistic.
My sheltered, religious friend was crushed when she discovered that her family's "Christmas smell" -- the special aroma that she had only ever smelled on Christmas morning -- was, in fact, pot.
The elephant that lived in my parent's living room has moved to my house.
As I rummaged through the cereal box sleepy eyed this morning, a bit of sadness came over me when I remembered adult cereals don't contain prizes.
I was six when I woke up next to my grandma to find that she had died in her sleep.
As he watched them make his hamburger from the counter, my four year old announced loudly that he was no longer interested in being an astronaut when he grew up but would prefer to have a job at McDonalds.
I stole a pack of gum from a grocery store when I was eight, but felt so guilty about it that I left the pack on the windowsill outside.
When I was six I realized it was impossible to reach the mountains while riding my bike.
When I was seven I made my dad a Father's Day card that said, "Dad, thanks for always taking me to the beer store."
I found my notebook from second grade, and when I read my words, "It was a good thing when Abraham Lincoln invented Thanksgiving," I realized that second graders are genius... pure genius!
Being a kindergartner feeling as if he didn't deserve to live should have been an early indication that there's something wrong with me.
I don't know if it qualified as rape, but I know it was wrong.
I knew my step-son had been overly sheltered when he told me a character from Guitar Hero III was the "black version of Jimi Hendrix."
My father died when I was six and the day after, I wrote in my diary that I was feeling better.
Everytime I tripped when I was younger I used to think my feet were plotting against me and my hands were my only true friends.
As a kid dripping in mud, I couldn't see why bringing four frogs home in a zip lock bag was bad idea.
You would think that the weirdest thing about my family is that my step grandma is younger then my mom, but in fact it the strange thing is that she is sleeping with my mom's brother.
My parents filed for divorce on my brother's birthday but waited to tell us until mine that next week.
Imagine my two girls as they opened up their exciting Christmas toy, squeezed goop into molds, put the mold into the oven, then waited, and waited, and waited, realizing that there was no heat, no light bulb, and would be no bug - just a bunch of disappointing goo.
As you trip me in the hallway I remember the summers of our childhood where we vowed to be best friends forever.
Our father's favourite game of deserting us in public places strengthened our sibling bond.
My best friend hung himself on a Friday afternoon, and when I checked my cell phone the morning of his funeral I realized he had called me that day at 3:24PM.
The nine year old said he had moved on from his best friend, who was killed by a falling branch a year ago, but as he stared at the spot where he died, I knew he hadn't.
I realized I was smarter than him when I was eight and learned what alcohol was.
At Grandma's house her powder and rouge were in a little drawer right in front of the toilet, so bathroom trips took at least 10 minutes and left me looking like Tammy Faye Bakker.
My best friend was ecstatic to meet her mother, the woman that walked out on her as a child.
Thanks to my erasable Bic pen cap and hours spent lingering in after-school daycare all those years, generations of innocent, tenacious schoolmates never found Waldo.
We would spend hours "painting" her weathered, old fence with water, pretending that we were using the whitest paint around.
I will never live in a world as bright and beautiful and alive as I did when I was six.
After sixteen years, I believe I have finally fully paid my Karmic debt for pantsing Little-Dick-Don in front of our Boy Scout troop.
At sixteen I was shocked to discover that Oz was a world of vivid color because every year I had watched 'The Wizard Of Oz' on the tiny black and white television which was the only television my impoverished household could afford.
As a child, I would lay my shirt on the bed with the front facing me and then lift the shirt over my head, inadvertently ensuring that I had it on backward every single day.
When I was a kid I thought vampire's teeth were like straws.
Her uncle promised she could have any one item in Salvation Army for her birthday, but when she pointed at the fur coat she'd been coveting for three years he decided she wasn't worth it and bought her a pair of stockings instead.
I knew I was pronouncing "island" (is-land) wrong when I discovered the word "isle" in third grade.
I ran down the middle of the icy street chasing the yellow bus from which 24 of my fellow grade 3 students and the driver had completly forgotten about me after ice skating.
The feelings of resentment started when my younger sister got her 10-speed bike at the same time that I did.
The real trouble began when he set me on the bicycle and said, "You're on a hill, you don't have to do anything."
I lost my childhood the day I realized Happy Meals no longer filled me up.
I watched the old VHS tapes of him filming the ocean for most of the night with the sudden realization that he was filming the ocean because it was the last time he would ever see it again.
My rapist went to jail and was released early for "good behavior.".
I sometimes wonder if tricycling head-first into a metal pole when I was three and not being able to remember it happening are connected.
For my father, the disappointment of a son who didn't enjoy athletics was never ameliorated by a daughter ecstatic to fill that void.
Sometimes I wonder how the girl who tried stealing my Pokemon cards turned out.
I've been counting down to my 18th birthday on a calendar with the heading "# of days of childhood left", but I'm too busy with college to build a fort or play freeze-tag.