It was interesting reading everyone's favorite childhood books and those posters (or swords!). When I think back to my childhood room, well, the first thing that comes to mind is that my sister and I had to share. And then I remember all the fights we had, and how someone got bubble gum on my new Holly Hobby bedspread and I had to live with it until puberty. Then I think of how my sister always got what she wanted, even my friends. And then I remember playing tag in Jennifer Cook's front yard, and everyone was so fast and I never stopped being 'it.' Then I remember Midnight Tag and Bloody Murder Tag (scary!) and T.V. Tag, which is where you have to yell out a T.V. show title before getting tapped. Then I remember the kid who used to ride his bike up to our front window every evening so he could watch our old black and white set--just for something stupid like Mork & Mindy. He'd pedal across the street afterwards and we'd all go to bed as if it had never happened. Not sure why Mom didn't just invite him in. Then I think of Mom's famous turkey loaf (comes with its own gravy!) and Sara Lee cherry cheesecake, almost unthawed. Then I think of how every other Wednesday was shopping night at the local supermarket. It had buzzing lights and a meat butcher who'd come out wearing a blood spattered white robe, and he'd stand there talking friendly to Mom with a cleaver swinging around in his hand. And the water fountain way in the back that we all had to get a sip from. We'd always stop in there on summer days to parch our thirst, and then pretend we'd lost our shopping money. Then I think of the whole town, and how every house had a set of eyes, how every person there seemed to know that things weren't always right in our house, and that their house was always right, somehow. They never had to sneak IOU's from work, or wear hand-me-downs, or pick nits out of each other's hair on the back porch. Or maybe they did. Sometimes I'd walk home from school and stare at the sun. They'd told me it would burn my retinas and make me blind. Something in me wanted to make them sad, regretful. I don't know why.