Christmas Eve, 1983, sitting in my mom’s car with my brother while she’s driving around in tears trying to figure out where my dad had gone with his girlfriend. I was 4; he was 2.
Cheery, I know.
Sitting behind the wheel of a racecar. For about a 10 year period, I was the celebrity in the family.
Me with my leg in a cast, at age 2, on a blanket in the yard playing cards (War) with my mother.
Riding my horse. I waited 18 years to get my first horse, and the 4 years I had him were the happiest of my life.
Gazing out at the elevated backyard and the brick retaining wall holding in the back patio deck of the Washington, D.C. house I was raised in, sunlight in the air, a 90 year old black walnut tree on my left, and our garage in the distance. I lived there from birth until almost eleven years old and I hope I never forget it.
For some reason, I thought of sitting in the classroom in which I attended third grade. Had I read this thread on another day, I might have thought of any of a number of random images (working at Cedar Point amusement park, watching basketball on TV, seeing Old Faithful) from various points in my life.