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story time.
For the longest time I've had this childhood memory that I couldn't really place. I don't remember how old I was, probably around five or so, and we were living at the "yellow house". We've always called it the yellow house because that's what it was, with the result that I have no idea where it was. I always have to ask, because it's nothing but the yellow house in my mind.
I remember the yellow house fondly, because it was a quiet little neighborhood where things didn't really happen, other than the adventures us kids would come up with. Our back yard was big and had a dog house our cat loved and bordered to the edge of this forest. It's where I learned to ride a bike and throw frisbee and avoid stinging nettles and build snowmen in the winter.
The best part, though, is that I can't recall any fighting from the time we lived there. My parents fought a lot when I grew up, especially my dad, and a lot of my memories are clouded because of how scared I was when they did, but I can't remember them fighting at the yellow house. We were happy there, my parents and me and my brother and sister. Or at least we were in the memories I keep from the place.
But the memory I always thought was kind of surreal and didn't fit in was that of a doctor who came to see us one day. I don't recall much about him, but I like imagining that he looked like a real storybook doctor, with a white coat and that round shiny thing on his forehead (what are those supposed to be, anyway?) even if I know he probably didn't look like that at all.
My little sister was ill, and he was there for her. I can't remember what it was about. But I distinctly recall the rubber gloves he wore, and how he blew one of them up like a balloon to amuse us children. He left it for us after drawing a face on it, so it looked like a happy person with really weird hair.
I've had it in my head for a long time but I never really talked about it, figuring it wasn't a real memory - that I'd made it up, or dreamt it. I don't know why I thought I had, it's just that it all seemed out of place to me. It still does.
But a few months back I asked my mom if there ever came a doctor to the yellow house to check on my sister. She told me yes. And that he'd come to check on my sister after my father dislocated her arm.
Funny thing is, I still can't remember any fighting.
I remember the yellow house fondly, because it was a quiet little neighborhood where things didn't really happen, other than the adventures us kids would come up with. Our back yard was big and had a dog house our cat loved and bordered to the edge of this forest. It's where I learned to ride a bike and throw frisbee and avoid stinging nettles and build snowmen in the winter.
The best part, though, is that I can't recall any fighting from the time we lived there. My parents fought a lot when I grew up, especially my dad, and a lot of my memories are clouded because of how scared I was when they did, but I can't remember them fighting at the yellow house. We were happy there, my parents and me and my brother and sister. Or at least we were in the memories I keep from the place.
But the memory I always thought was kind of surreal and didn't fit in was that of a doctor who came to see us one day. I don't recall much about him, but I like imagining that he looked like a real storybook doctor, with a white coat and that round shiny thing on his forehead (what are those supposed to be, anyway?) even if I know he probably didn't look like that at all.
My little sister was ill, and he was there for her. I can't remember what it was about. But I distinctly recall the rubber gloves he wore, and how he blew one of them up like a balloon to amuse us children. He left it for us after drawing a face on it, so it looked like a happy person with really weird hair.
I've had it in my head for a long time but I never really talked about it, figuring it wasn't a real memory - that I'd made it up, or dreamt it. I don't know why I thought I had, it's just that it all seemed out of place to me. It still does.
But a few months back I asked my mom if there ever came a doctor to the yellow house to check on my sister. She told me yes. And that he'd come to check on my sister after my father dislocated her arm.
Funny thing is, I still can't remember any fighting.