HERE IS SOME OF WHAT I REMEMBER:

Walking into the laundry room and happening, suddenly, upon my parents kissing. This was a frequent occurrence to which I responded by promptly clenching my eyes shut and making clear how grossed out I was. Still: I knew at an early age what a lucky thing it is to be raised by parents so in love. I’m kind of surprised I didn’t end up with eleven accidental siblings.

Heading up a save-the-rainforest initiative in third grade called Rainforest Girls in Action {or “RGA” to those in the know}. The sole result of this effort was a series of marker-scrawled posters depicting monkeys and birds, with some random facts about forest destruction. My monkeys looked like melancholy little dogs.

Being simultaneously creeped out and fascinated by this segment from Sesame Street:

Pretending, throughout elementary school, to have broken bones and envying friends who actually shattered limbs and needed casts. They came to school bearing their impressive injuries and were oohed and ahhed-over; their bandages bled with rainbow scribblings from concerned classmates. My father once fashioned a pair of fake crutches so I could hobble around the house evoking pretend sympathy, and to this day it represents to me the pinnacle of parental love. Eventually, in fifth grade, I broke both wrists within weeks of each other — but I was homeschooled at the time and therefore classmate-less. My casts were shells of boring beige.

What do you remember most about your childhood? And why are kids so weird?

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