My Memories Of My Childhood

In june 1994 my mama found out that she was pregnant, this was a shock because my mom wasn’t suppose to be able to birth another child. I became the little miracle growing inside her. The doctor told my parents he was going to do everything he could so I could live, he was a christian man and he told her “we’re going to pray that God does a miracle.” December 5th 1994, a c-section was performed and I was born a premature baby that weighed 2.5 pounds.

My earliest memory of my childhood has to be the first major fight my parents had that has been seared into the memories of my childhood. We all hate to see our parents fight and usually when I would witness my parents fight I would block it out because “mommy and daddy will always love each other no matter what.” They would tell me that over and over again no matter how bad their fights got. I yearn so badly to tell my younger self not to hang on to that idea of love because that idea in the end wasn’t really love at all.

Childhood is the most innocent stage and also the sweetest period of man’s life. They cheer our heart and make us forget distresses. So, often I look back to my childhood days and try to gather joy from their happy memories. I recall many things that give me joy even today and many others that fill my mind with pain. Yet the cherish memories of childhood linger on. My childhood memories are those of a sheltered and carefree life, cherished with love and affection. As I was the first child in the family, so everybody doted on me.

As early as I can remember my grandparents, whom my sisters and I called Mum and Pa were and are the most important people in my life. I have two sisters, my twin Kristine and my younger sister Debbie. I don’t have many memories of my dad and the one’s I do recall aren’t really nice ones, he was an alcoholic who wasn’t home much and when he was my mother and him would argue and end with him hitting her. Growing up I always felt that my mom favored my twin Kristine (not much as changed) and that my father favored Debbie, so where did this leave me. We lived in a suburban city and most days and nights my mother worked second and third shifts, probably so she wasn’t home when our father returned late at night drunk. My parent’s situation left the three of us alone quite often if it wasn’t for our amazing grandparents. Similar to the way I felt about the favoritism being shown was the same way my sisters felt about the relationship I had with our grandparents. The numerous occasions I ran away from home to a phone booth to call my grandfather to come get me, staying at their house for days just being happy and feeling special. We didn’t live in the best houses, I remember one home that used to be my fathers aunt and uncles house when we walked home from school with friends they would want to know what house and at first my sister and I would just say “oh it’s down there”. Finally, when I was in seventh grade my mother left our dad and we moved in with my grandparents.

My earliest memories, around when I was 4 to 5 years old, are of playing in my front yard with our next-door neighbours. We had made up our own “secret” knock that we would do on each other’s front doors, so we would know who would be knocking. We had a place near the playground, a cubby amongst the trees that we would play adventure games in. We would spend so much time riding around on bikes and scooters, our youth still in tacked. After many late nights, scrapped knees and childish bickering, our neighbours moved and we were left with no playmates.

My grandma has brown hair with light brown highlights, she is dark skinned, with brown eyes, she is a big people person and does everything to make everyone happy. She works for a dentist and says she would retire if I wasn't hers, she is 56 and still getting shorter. My papa on the other hand is light skinned, has reddish brown hair, blue eyes, he is a controlling but sweet person and he likes things his way, he is retired now and loves it, he is 58 years old, he can't see very well so he's always squinting or has glasses on. I don’t live with my parents or sister but they are still a part of my life. My mom is tan, with brown eyes with reddish hair. She is loving and doesn’t care about what people think. My mom stays at home most of the time to keep my niece Kinley while my sister is at school. My dad looks a lot like my papa except skinnier and has green eyes, “he is a Tosto” my grandma says by that she means he’s just as hard headed as my pa and I. Katie my sister is 17 and raising a child she has dirty blond hair. She is very protective about the people she loves and will do anything for them. I’m the youngest out of my family but I’ve kinda grown up as an only child because it’s just my grandparents and me at the house. My grandma gets her dark skin from her parents because both of them are cherokee indian, my papa on the other hand is very light skinned he gets this from his irish and scottish roots.

My childhood was a very dark place for me, I didn’t have as many friends and people were bullying me and I started to become a bully myself including hurting my family members. There was also a lot of family issues in my life, Also with my school life with the grades that I was making.When I would come home from school, my parents would always argue and have always fight. My mom would always make me read a book to her before she and I went to sleep and before I finish my last sentence,an argument occurs and then I would cry and feel depressed and a lot of adults were making fun of body and making rude comments. For example: I would open my fridge and my grandparents friend would come over and see me pull out a jar of ice cream and say to my grandparents “she looks like she pregnant, why would you allow her to eat ice cream. She will get bigger.” I didn’t have as many friends or talents. I tried everything I can to help others, but they just use me and call me mean things.

There is one childhood memory that I can easily remember, even though it was ten years ago, I can remember it as if it were yesterday. Reminiscing back to the sad day racing my brother home from the bus stop where I had the accident of my life. Him being nearly a year older he beat me home but shut the door in my face as soon as I reach home where I was running full speed right into the door head first. That day change my life in all the wrong ways because I chip one of my tooth and lost a one as well. I was mad at my brother for weeks even though I know he didn't mean to hurt me or wanted to damage my teeth because I understand that accident do happen. I forgave him for that incident but indue time I realize the way my teeth was growing which wasn’t normal.

The time of pure innocence in other words, childhood. When I visualize my childhood, I can hear faint laughter in the distance and I feel serenity wash over me. Moments of memories flash through my eyes like a movie, I can still feel the swelling happiness that grew within my chest. The smell of "outside" that I wore as a perfume. Imagination taking me away to the vast open oceans on a huge pirate ship as I sword fought my opponent inevitably making him walk the plank, or slipping through an obstacle of lasers that I need to get past in order to complete my top secret mission. Living in my house that is outlined in chalk on the driveway and pretending to be an adult, or at least what I thought being an adult is. My biggest protector against evil monsters that lurked in the darkness is my brave and noble teddy bear, he is so intimidating that every monster cowered in his presence. I remember when I fell asleep in the car after a very eventful night only to magically wake up in my bed snuggled in my blanket. I remember being so excited for what tomorrow may bring that I couldn't sleep.

Reminiscing my childhood has given me a good kind of nostalgia. It reminds me how it felt to have no worries about school papers that is due on Monday, no responsibility whatsoever on cleaning the house, and especially no anxiety on how I looked or how I acted stupidly with my friends, just pure enjoyment and play. Indeed, this stage in man’s life was the best. It is free from the dirty and corrupt minds of the world. In the eyes of a child, everything is innocent and perfect.

I have very few recollections of my early years and at what exact age I was able to read and write. Some of my earliest memories are vague on the topic of my literacy. However, I do remember small memories, such as, learning how to write my name in cursive, winning prizes for reading, and crying over every assigned high school essay. Over the last twelve years my literacy has grown rapidly with the help of teachers, large school libraries, my family, and so on. There is always room for my literacy skills to grow, but my family’s help and positive attitude towards my education, the school systems I have been a part of, and the horrible required essays from high school helped me obtain the level, skills, habits, and processes that I use as part of my literacy today.

As I take a look back on my life, I realize how great it has truly been. I had an absolutely amazing childhood and I am beyond blessed for it. I grew up in a home with two loving parents that have been with me through it all and now of days that is something to be truly thankful for. My parents taught me to strive to be anything that I wanted and that I could be anything that I set my mind to. These dreams changed throughout my life as I grew older and as I grew into the person that I am today.

The first memory my grandfather had from his childhood was with his Mom sitting on their porch looking at the sun going down. He said, “That was the most peaceful and favorite memory of his childhood”. His mother played a key role in his life, everything she taught he used in life. As a child he stayed close to his mom because no matter what was going on around him in his environment he felt safe. That’s the reason it’s one of his favorite memories is sitting watching the sunset with his mom. Even though, she’s not here the sunset always reminds him of the memories he shared with her.

When I was probably about 8 years old, we lived in Whitmore, California. I was at the age where everything was still just another big adventure. We drove up to Redding, which was around 45 minutes away, to do our shopping. We would traverse there about once a week. On one such excursion, we had spent all day driving around town, shopping, and playing at a park. My whole family, including my 10 year old brother, my parents, and I were all there. At that time, we owned a blue Nissan Altima.

I think of my life and memories as an ocean: serene and still or rough and rigid. But in the end it’s always beautiful and breath-taking. Some of my memories warm me up from the inside. But they also tore me apart. Unfortunately, the memories that tore me apart are the best I can remember. My childhood memories, when I look back at them, are filled with resentment and bitterness. The first few memories, I was spent with strangers. Strangers my parents paid to be our care-givers. Some of these strangers were kind and compassionate, some were troubled and negligent. My dad received so much help due to the circumstances in his country. I remember an instance when my community gave us a helping-hand. They helped us fix our trailer and built a