A Faerie Journey: A Memoir of My Life

The first memory

Sometimes, we sit as we grow older and think about our first memory. It can be at any age and time in your life. Mine was a painful one.

I was around 3 or 4 years old. I remembered running around at my grandparent's home place. My grandfather would have pieces of wood and nails all over the place.

And typical, as kids, we were all bare-footed. I was young. I didn't know better. None of us did.

The first memory was me stepping on a nail... and it went into my foot.

Back then, some parents and grandparents thought they knew what was best. I remember crying my eyes out because it had hurt like hell.

I remember my mom and dad were holding me down as my grandpa pulled out the nail out of my foot. We didn't go to the hospital or anything... so it must've not been that bad.

Soon after, I was feeling better.

Of course, that was the only memory. Others were later on, from when we moved out of my grandparents second house back into town.

I clearly remembered my dad telling me he got rid of my barbies and I cried. My dad was a liar. And that was just the first of many lies that I remembered from my own dad.