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April 12th, 2018, 10:29 PM | #51 |
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I have this crystal clear memory of giving my mother a mother's day gift that I made for her in kindergarten. It was a cardboard box that I'd fingerpainted. I would've been five.
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April 18th, 2018, 10:44 AM | #52 |
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A very interesting thread, which I've just read from the beginning. I'd like to 'Thank' almost every post, but as they're so old I suppose there's no point.
- - - - - I was three-and-a-half when my sister and brother, twins, were born. While my mother was in hospital, I was sent to stay with a local family. My father had come to collect me and we were walking home. He said, proudly - I sensed his pride - "Your little sister is called Alexandra and your little brother is called Leonard." I went to a kindergarten where the girls and boys had names like Keith and Susan, and I was disappointed by these unfamiliar names. [I have changed the names.] - - - - - It must have been shortly after that: I was in my sister and brother's bedroom, where my mother was breast-feeding them - I prefer the old word 'suckling'. The room was shady, warm, and steamy. This is a pure, good memory. - - - - - First Bad Memory At primary school, aged five or six. I went into a toilet. Two or three boys, who I didn't know, were standing at the entrance chatting. Un-self-consciously, I stood at the urinal and took out my penis. One of them said, "Oh, you've got a little one!" His tone was not malicious; rather, it was friendly surprise, but, mortified, I covered myself and went to another toilet. - - - - - Those last two memories were dormant for fifty years. Who can explain such things? |
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May 8th, 2018, 12:42 AM | #53 |
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Chronologically speaking... very difficult to tell.
But here are two: 1) Being attached in my bed at my grand-parents house and terrified of not being able to get out of bed. 2) Vomiting (almost to death) in a tube at the hospital, because stupid old people let rat poison pills in the kitchen and they were afraid that I ate one of these pills. |
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May 10th, 2018, 03:40 AM | #54 | |
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