Do you find yourself with childhood memories that you can't explain? Are there strange dreams or mundane things that you've always remembered?

Was there a particular time in your life you've never forgotten because you tortured yourself about it so much at the time?

Or does this just prove that I'm a big freak?

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Answers

Is there a particular part of my life I've never forgotten because I've tortured myself about it so much at the time? Try my entire childhood!

The few, choice memories I have of my childhood are:

1. running full tilt into a jungle gym and having a vast, egg-like bump on my forehead.
2. being told by one of my delightful little classmates that I was pathetic because I waited until a friend of mine was alone and not surrounded by classmates before inviting her to my birthday (instead of inviting her in front of everyone and making it obvious that I hadn't invited any of them).
3. being in our equivalent of fourth grade and getting the feeling I was universally hated.
4. being almost breathless with panic when my mother's car wouldn't start one morning and I was going to be late for school (Christ knows why, considering I loathed the place and everyone there).
5. feeling the eyes of my entire class staring at me as our teacher told them I was getting moved up a year (it was fairly obvious that wasn't going to make me popular)
6. resenting the ease with which my younger sister made friends.
7. feeling ill with guilt after writing 'NO' in wet cement on our neighbours' new fence. Feeling certain the police would be knocking on our door any time soon (after they had taken you down to the station over that smiley stamp, Pamie). Making a tearful confession to our neighbours.
8. being so over-clingy with my one and only friend that I hated anyone else she chose to pass the time of day with, and feeling devestated if she invited anyone else to her farm to ride ponies (I was heavily into ponies as a girl)

Oh yes, it was a jolly, merry time all right. The consolation is that the horrible girls that made my life miserable because I wasn't exactly the same as them at primary school are now still living in the same small town, working at the local supermarket, pregnant with yet another child to their factory worker husbands, and I'm in London, have got the career thing going, have married a fantastic bloke, am buying a lovely flat, yada yada yada.

You would think I'd have forgotten these things by now (cue the violins)

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Yeah, you're a freak for sure.

Not that I don't have memories running around in my head that I can probably never get rid of, but they aren't ALL about stealing something.

Only one. A pack of Bubble Yum Bubble Gum. In it's pink foil package. From the WaWa on Union Hill Road. I threw away the package without chewing a piece.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

I have a lot of useless memories from all periods of my life. When I was about 2 years old, I remember my mother putting a heavy jacket on me and us walking down the stairs. I had to walk step by step because I couldn't walk down the big steps normally. Can you get more of a useless memory than that??? Well, yes, you can as I have many others. I have no idea why I rememeber pointless crap, but I always seem to do and it always seems to take over an actual important memory and leaves me sitting there for an hour trying to remember something - but ask me about my little giraffe bike when I was 3 or 4 years old, and I can tell you story after story....like this one:

I was being on my little bike in the apartment and riding around. I got bored and wanted to go outside, so I went into the hall. Those big steps I was just mentioning were there and even though I could not walk down them, I had no idea that I could not ride down them either. I actually remember thinking that it would be fun to ride my little bike down the stairs...so I was off! Next thing I knew, I was tossed from my bike and found myself tumbling down the stairs, unable to stop myself. When I hit the bottom, I rang the bell of an apartment there as I knew my mother was there. I remember her asking me what made me ride my bike down the stairs and I remember saying that I thought it was fun.

But ask me what happened last week and see the confused look on my face. I haven't a clue!

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

I vividly remember this time when I was 2, my parents had gone out for the night and left my older sister in charge of me who was having a slumber party. They were calling boys and hanging up on them. Well, then they were talking to one boy and I hung up on him and they got mad at me. Well, my sister took matters into her own hands and spanked me for it. Then she and her friends went into her bedroom and left me in the family room crying. Then my brother came home from work and saw me crying and I told him that sissy spanked me and he proceded to beat the crap out of her. She locked herself into her bedroom and wouldn't come out. When she opened the door, he chased her into the bathroom and she stayed locked in there until our parents came home. Why I remember that, I don't know.

I also remember me and a girlfriend of mine seeing if we could swallow a whole glass of oj in one gulp. This glass was about the size of two double shot glasses and a little bit wider. I don't know why the hell we did that. But we did.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Thank you pamie! I thought I was the only one who remembered stuff like that.

OK, so I was about 8 years old and I was playing at this girl's house I knew from school. Actually, I really did not even like playing with her but my mom made me (the girl's mom was really mean (she was a teacher) and I just did not like the way she looked at me), the girl was overweight and like I said, her mom was mean and they were just a wierd family overall.

We are playing Barbies and this girl had a whole bunch of Barbie outfits, one of which was a ballerina tutu. I was in ballet class at the time and was obsessed with this ballerina tutu. I wanted my doll to wear it all day. I did not want to share the outfit, even though it was not mine to begin with. While no one was looking, I stuffed it into my pocket just as I was leaving with my mom and brother.

Well, I guess I made a really big deal about this tutu because we had just walked in the door when the phone started ringing. My stomach dropped to my knees and sure enough, it was the girl's mother. My poor mother was mortified and, thankfully, did not scream, yell or hit (which is what I was sure would happen) but told me I was wrong and I needed to apologize. SHE TOOK ME BACK THAT VERY SECOND WITH THE DRESS AND MADE ME SAY I WAS SORRY. It was definitely not a highlight in my life.

When my mom and I talk about that she always says that girl's mom always looked at us like she was better. To this day, whenever the mother sees me she still gives me dirty looks -- as if I am the same person I was when I was 8 years old!!!

I guess our subconscience keeps the memory alive so whenever we are tempted to do something we KNOW is wrong our minds just call up the memory -- the whole memory, including queasy stomach, fear, guilt. It keeps me honest now, that's for sure, I no longer have the stomach to be a thief.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

That smiley stamp story is hurting me. In second grade, my friend Amy had one of those skinny Crayola crayon holders, where the crayons stand straight up in a line. She never used it and kept it in the empty desk next to hers. When I sat at that desk to color one day, I asked her if I could have it and she said no. Guess who took it anyway? The next day Amy went to the teacher and we heard that lost- crayon-holder announcement. Huh--I never gave it back, and I didn't feel guilty until I heard about the smiley stamp under the desk. Sheesh.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

When I was in the 5th grade my friend Jeanette and I prank-called this boy's house like, a million times in an hour. The sad thing is the boy and his family were friends of ours. We just thought that would be hilarious, calling them over and over and hanging up. HA! Well, apparently we did it one time too many and the last time we called, the operator answered. Later the operator called my house and talked to my mother, who was, of course, furious. I was already dying of shame but of course was made to call (one more time) and apologize to the boy's mother. She was very nice about it.

The thing is, the moment I was about to make the tearful, confession phone call, a Tropicana commercial came on tv. To this day, when I see a commercial for Tropicana or any other orange juice, I get embarrassed.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

ahhh my past... I remember in high school i had a part-time job, and the two boys who worked it were SO cool because they were older and art school students. I think now that they must have been stoned all the time, but as a geeky-yet-straightedge 15-year-old i had no idea. Anyway i had an enormous crush on one of them, who was beautiful, and a skateboarder. So the other one had a holiday party and invited me to it and i knew his friend was going to be there. but when i told mom a few days later she wouldn't let me go. it was the end of my world. I wrote a huge tearstained journal entry about it. I remember that traumatized feeling. the funny thing is that several years later i hooked up with mr. beautiful, who was less beautiful (kinda running to podge), and also, i realized, no rocket scientist. he also turned out to he severely um underendowed and (more importantly)a coward and a jerk. But i told him off about it all and never saw him again. hah. thank you for this trip down memory lane.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

this is kind of weird because my friend and i were talking about childhood memories just today. anyway I remember when i was two and me and my dad were waiting in the parking lot of the store for my mom and i really really really had to pee. my dad, being the lazy yet good understanding military dad that didn't want me to lose all my knowledge of potty training, whipped out his helmet from the backseat and let me pee in it. and then when i was around 5 or 6 i had this best friend theresa that everyone just loved to death because she was short and had chubby cheeks, while i was tall and skinny for a kindergartner. so one day we were hanging out with the big kids (third graders) and they wanted me to go in the trashcan but i wouldn't because i knew they hated me and wouldn't let me out and probably suffocate me to death. so then i was about to cry and my BEST FRIEND called me a crybaby!! i don't know how i managed to do this but i had scratched her face up pretty bad, and then the big kid susan was like "how'd you like it if someone scratched you're face!!" and grabbed me and held a claw- resembling hand in my face. but she let me go and i ran home. i later went to the playground, alone, and theresa's mom came up to me and asked me why i did it, and like a retard i said "mmmidunno..." in first grade i was sitting in my desk and had a really irking itch in my krotch area and so i looked around to make sure no one was looking and when i finally scratched the pretty blond girl sherry was looking at me and made one of those "ewwww" faces. i'm a girl by the way. in third grade one day i was at lunch and when i got my tray and walked over to my table, i slipped and fell. not once, not twice, but THREE times. i don't know if this happened before or after i ran for SCA secretary and was booed offstage. i think this is why i hate people.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

When I was, like, 5, for about a week, I had a kumquat as a pet. I didn't know what to make of the kumquat, so I gave it a name (which I do not remember) and I became its owner. I was horrified to discover that I had accidentally sat on it, its bodily fluids staining my hands. I cried. My childhood was over. My innocence was lost.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Also around that time, anytime grapes were left on the kitchen table, I would only eat as many grapes as there were members of the Evans family on the old Good Times television show. They were uniquely qualified to correspond grapes to. MASH had too large a cast. I don't recall that Mary Tyler Moore was all that grape friendly. Compared to Jimmy Walker standing with his feet apart, slapping his hands, and yelling Dy-No-Mite, Rhoda just couldn't compete for a grape.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

I don't really remember little things, but I never fail to have the most embarrasing things etched into my brain for safe-keeping. Like when I went to my Senior Prom, and slow-danced with the prettiest girl in our school, and totally fucked it up, because I had never danced before. She practically dragged me out there, and halfway to the dance floor I remember thinking, quite clearly, "Wait, I don't know how to dance! I've gotta get out of here!" I seriously considered ripping my arm free and running away, but decided against it.

Of course, I probably should have, given what happened because of that one stupid dance, but that's something else entirely.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Come on Andrew, spill it, what happened???

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

One thing stands out... my horror memory: I was 6, a very very shy kid. I lived on a naval base in san francisco where everyone on my block knew me... I had this phobia about school bathrooms and wouldn't go ALL day. That is not a good idea for a 6 year old. So everyday I would get off the bus and run home because I had to go so bad. One day I got onto the bus and knew I wasn't going to make it. The bus FINALLY got to my stop and I got off with my friend...I didn't say goodbye to her, I just took off running. It was a beautiful sunny day, I can still rememeber. I thought I was going to make it... but I didn't. I still have dreams about running the block and a half with a wet line behind me... and the neighbors all waving. I don't think they noticed? Anyhow. I used the school toilets after that.

Mae

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Yeah, why you tease us?

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

I was, of course, refering to Andrew.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

When I was in sixth grade, my best friend at the time got himself a girlfriend. Suddenly, when recess came, he would be waiting for her, not for me. I just became this useless third appendage, and I just couldn't understand it at all. Why would anyone want to hang out with a girl instead of his buddy?

Well, despite my anger and frustration over the whole thing, I put up with it. And since the girl in question was in the same homeroom as me, we almost got to be friends as well. About four months into the relationship, she started telling me things about them, and how certain things annoyed her, or how he was boring sometimes, things like that.

The first thing that I'm ashamed of and will never forget was that I told other people what she told me in confidence. Partially because I was still angry at being replaced, and partially because it made me feel good to know something other people didn't.

Somehow, some of that got back to him and he asked me about it. I don't think he knew that I was the one who was telling people, but he knew that she told me things sometimes, and wanted me to tell him what they were. We were on the bus, riding home from school, and he was in the seat in front of me, leaning over it and asking him to tell me. I didn't want to...for some reason I was more hesitant to betray her confidence to him than to other people, and besides, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. In the end, though, I told him because when it came right down to it, he WAS my best friend.

The next day, she confronted me in the hall, and asked me why I told him. And like a complete dork, I didn't tell I told him because he was friend...for some insane reason, I told her that I did it because he said he'd hit me if I didn't. Which led to him confronting me about the lie a couple of hours later.

The end result was that I lost both their friendships. It's been 12 years since then, and I still remember the entire thing with incredible clarity and guilt.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Gross. Confession is good for the soul and all, and I guess it's good for us to learn that we are not alone in our freaky memory-making, but this is getting kind of sad.

Brings to mind this other weird thing I used to do in school. I don't know what made me think to do this, but I started it in grade school and continued it through college. Every once in a while, when I was really bored, I would flip in my text book to some random place and write somewhere in the margin "Remember May 19!" or whatever day it was that day. No reason. A big event didn't have to occur that day or anything - I would just do that. STRANGE! I often wondered what the person who had the book the next year must have thought when they reached that page. "What happened that day...?"

It must've been my bored attempt at creating an unsolved mystery or something. Since I have been out of school for a few years now, I haven't done it lately...maybe I'll start writing in the church hymnals now...

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

One of my first memories is that I threw up on the bus every day in kindergarten and first grade. I had a bad case of motion sickness/weak stomach.

Another memory is in the middle of a test in second grade. The whole class was silent, heads bent over working on the test. I let out the loudest burp of my life, i didn't hold back at all. The entire class broke into hysterics.

As for lack of memories... Its weird, but I've completely blocked out my memories of 7th and 8th grade. I don't remember who my teachers were, who my friends were, or even one memory from that period.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

When I was in grade 6 or so somebody stole my treasured 12 color pen. "With this pen might you draw many rainbows," my father said to me when he gave it to me. How I treasured that pen. That is until some scum of the earth went into my desk and stole it. I found out years later who it was and I still plan to look him up and go steal something he (hopefully) treasures out of his house. See how he likes it. Maybe his VCR.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

I remember once when I was 6 we all ate lunch around this big tree, and one day we left our bags there when it was pouring rain. For some reason I ran out and got them all, and came back beaming with pride, but the teachers never rewarded me or anything. I was soaking wet and all they did was give me a towel, sheesh.

When I was 11, I was waiting on the sidewalk while my brother played a football game, and there was this super dooper smoove lookin car. I have no idea what type, but it looked expensive. I just had this urge to mess it up, so i grabbed one of my mother's lipsticks while she wasn't looking, and drew a big dirty line across one whole side. This started my fetish for scribbling on desks and tables I think :).

Allison: I used to do that too! Well, almost. I'd write mini time capsule letters and leave them in my textbooks for the person who got them next year, in hopes they'd turn into some sort of urban legend.

-- Anonymous, May 19, 1999

Whoa! I did the whole writing in textbooks to the kids who would have it the next year, too. I created this character, Spiffy J. Buchwald, who was a sort of guru for students: he'd give them the clue about the even numbered questions having answers in the back, and lots of tips on how to get away with not doing your homework.

As far as humiliation, in 7th grade I brought my guitar to school for a presentation for music class; already feeling a little "too cool" (I mean that in a self-conscious way). I had to cross the street in front of the school, and as I ran to get out of a bus's way, I tripped. In front of all of the kids going into the school I ripped my jeans, skinned my hands, and had my guitar slide across the street causing the busses to honk their horns at me to get out of the way.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

I remember (at least)2 things from childhood very distinctly.

When I was probably 4 or 5, my best friend and I went to the grocery store with my mom, where there was one of those Brach's candy displays just loaded with lots of candy -- what a feast for a kid! I was always soooo tempted to just grab on little piece of candy from that and eat it (because of course my mom wasn't buying any for me!) Anyway, my friend convinced me that it was perfectly okay to eat candy from the bins - that's what they're there for! So we each grabbed a piece and stole away to an isolated corner of the store to eat it . . . yeah, if it's okay to eat it, why did we have to hide to do it?

The other strong memory is of 3rd grade. One of the girls in the class had made a "rubber" egg -- if you soak an egg in vinegar overnight it will make it "rubber." She brought it to school and set it on the counter for everyone to see. Before recess that afternoon I went to look at the egg. I carried my pencil with me and was "examining" the egg with my pencil (a fat shiny red pencil, I recall) and THE EGG POPPED! It just exploded! I quickly sat down at my desk, and then Carolyn (the girl who brought the egg) went to see her egg before recess and discovered the carnage, "It's popped!" The teacher made us stay in from recess that afternoon and sit at our desks without talking until the culprit confessed. I was wracked with guilt, absolutely sick.

I ultimately confessed to Carolyn that I knew what happened to her egg . . . about a week before HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

C'mon Andrew--did you get her pregnant? Did you marry her? Did you serve some time at the big house for underage drinking and contributing to the delinquincy of a minor? Did you have a Carrie moment? What? The people have a right to know. I have got so many inane detailed memories associated with guilt and intense emotional kiddie trauma that I won't bore you. To bad I can't remember the important stuff; Like when Christmas is--I'm serious- is it the 24th, or 25th, or 26th? Of December you say? So..when is my birthday again?

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

Man...Andy (acobb@cancer.org), will you marry me? And, if you're not available, can I marry Spiffy J. Buchwald? It would be helpful to have someone around giving me hints all the time.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

Writing in textbooks! I had forgotten about that.

When I was in grade school, our spelling books would always get vandalized. there wasn't a chapter in that book that didn't have a picture of a boy and a girl playing in a park with a giant ink dick drawn on the boy snaking over towards these giant boobs on the girl.

Then there were the aspiring cartoonists who would draw flip books in the lower right hand corner of the book. I had one about a boy who fell off a skateboard and then flipped you off.

I was so jealous of all of the school book art and profanity that I decided if I couldn't beat them, join them. Of course, I was still terrified of "the cops," so once, when I was all by myself on the school bus, on page 32 of my reader where someone had written, "Fuck you," I got out my pencil and wrote in tiny letters: "F. U. 2."

I knew what it meant. And if I was caught, I could always erase.

I'm such a dork.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

Oh, and Andy? Even when they can't see the dimples, you can still woo the ladies.

I'm always impressed.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

I don't want to write out the whole horrible thing, because I just end up wanting to stick my head in an oven afterwards, and they're pretty long, but here are the links to the stories on my website: Here's the whole prom story, since I didn't really go into detail up there, and here is the stuff that makes me want to stick my head in an oven. And as a sidenote, this is something I wrote right after it happened, when I was good and upset.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

Okay. So I'm new to the forum thing. I guess I'm supposed to send them to you? This is the one involving childhood memories.

Why do we remember stuff that happened when we were in elementary school/junior high? I have no idea, but I could write volumes about the useless stories cluttering up my mind. One of the more amusing things happened was when I was in 1st grade. I remember running around the playground with my friends -- screaming, yelling, kicking the boys "where it counted" -- when I decided to take a little break. I stood against the school wall, trying to catch my breath. Out of nowhere, this kid Cory comes up, grabs my face, and jammed his lips on mine. I screamed at the top of my lungs, brought back my right fist, and punched him square in the jaw. I got sent to the principal's office.

Another one -- I was in 3rd grade. I had just gotten back from this surgery I had to make the gums on my bottom row of teeth grow. I don't know. It sounds disgusting -- it was. I had to wear this pink packing stuff that resembled Silly Putty and a grayish-clear plastic retainer. We were all out on the playground, and I ran up to my second grade teacher, hoping for some sympathy. "Look, Ms. Hughes," I said, smiling to reveal my battle dressings.

"Oh, you're gettin' them straightened up?" she said, distracted.

I shook my head. "No, I had surgery."

"Oh," she replied, not even looking at me.

Yeah, thanks a lot, Ms. Hughes. She doesn't even remember who I am. I came up to her at my grandma's funeral in July, and she didn't recognize me one iota. When I told her who I was, she said, "Oh, yes, the state policeman's daughter."

Just one more -- 6th grade. Gym. Square dancing. I always hated square dancing. One, there was just something about prancing around in a circle to "King of the Road" that never really appealed to me. Two, I always managed to get stuck with the kid who smelled like rotten eggs and cigarettes, and drew skulls and rebel flags when he was supposed to be working on Language Arts, and etched "AC/DC" into every desk he sat at.

And that day -- as luck would have it, the boys had to choose the girls. I stood in front of a line of 12-year-old boys, alternately hating my gym teacher and my parents for enrolling me in school. Well, Terry got to choose first. Terry wasn't as bad as the rotten-egg-smelling-skull-drawing guys, but he talked too much about the telephone booth outside his house and his teeth always looked like he had just finished off a ham-salad sandwich on white bread. Anyway, Terry chose Angie, the current heartthrob of Mr. Perry's class. The groans were heard all around.

Next in line was R.J. R.J. used the excuse every day that his house had burned to the ground and that was why he didn't have his homework done. It became sort of a running joke in our class. R.J. was big, tall, and had a long curly ducktail (is that what they were called) halfway down his back and round glasses. I always liked to think of him as a Harley-riding owl.

R.J. thought, and thought, and thought. He finally chose Nicole. Nicole always threw herself at the first thing that crossed her path. I think 12-year-old guys kind of liked that in a woman, because that meant they really didn't have to do anything except go along with the action.

Next was Brian. Brian was the love of my life. I would have charged hell with a squirt gun just to hold hands with him at one high school basketball game. He was 13, the oldest guy in the class (he failed 5th grade), and the only 6th grader I ever knew to boast shaving. He wore a different silk shirt every day, up-to-the-minute Air Jordans, and rode horses. Alas, Brian was in love with Kelly, the little perfect black-haired, blue-eyed bitch that she was. Unfortunately, Kelly had been out with a nasty case of the flu for over a week. And Nicole and Angie had already been taken.

I stood with my hands behind my back and my fingers crossed. This was the moment of truth. If Brian chose me, it meant that all along, he wanted me instead of Kelly, he was glad she was out with the flu, and even though I had no butt (he told me this once), he would ask me to "go" with him, we'd push our desks together, and we'd walk over to Villiage Pantry after school to get a strawberry flavored milk.

Brian crossed his arms and looked over his prospects carefully. There was Missy, with her waist-length hair and perfect white teeth. Brian might choose her! But no, Missy had gone with Dustin. That pretty much ruined her chances right there, Dustin being one of the members of the cigarette-smelling-rebel-flag-drawing gang.

Then there was Jenny. She was tall and pretty and wore her high-school sister's clothes. And a real underwire bra. But her hair was blonde and permed. Brian preferred brunettes with straight hair (he told me so).

He looked down the line one more time when Ms. Ziegler told him to hurry it up. He drew in a breath, and said, "Maggie."

Maggie nearly fell over. Maggie was me! ME! Brad had chosen me! I was in heaven. Square dancing was entirely too short that day.

I think Brian's in jail now.

--Maggie Andrews (maggieandrews@hotmail.com)

Catch Maggie every day at http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Lights/9506/ -- A Life Less Ordinary

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

You guys! I just rememberd that I wrote about the square-dancing day in my diary. It will forever be remembered now as you read this entry from January 28, 1993 ...

Dear Diary,

Hi! I had to come home from school today cause I was sick. Today we had art. It was boring. Yesterday, we had square dancing in gym! Ahhh! Guess who was my partner. BRIAN JONES!!! We had to hold hands! GROSS! ((Then I put a big "X" through "GROSS!" and circled "BRIAN" with a heart.)) But at least he wasn't mean about it. Nicole was jealous because she got Terry Roszell. ((My bad. I thought Angie got Terry. It was Nicole.)) See you!

Damn, I'm retarded.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

I'm having a little too much fun tripping down Memory Lane. Here's a picture of Brian and I from 6th grade. I hope this works.

Okay, so he was attractive to me.

-- Anonymous, May 20, 1999

Oh, I do have different memories, some of them like pictures, suddenly popping out when I really could do without them... Like the time, when I was around five years old, watching a stranger standing in doorway, waiting for my mother, who was changing her clothes in back room. The man was ambulance car driver and suddenly I was sure that I was in love with him. I do not remember his face, but I do remember the jacket he wore and the feeling of love washing over me...

But I also have some troubling memories, that I am repeatedly trying to write down and forget, like going thorough some writing therapy.

Fortunately enough one of those things happened when I was 19, not a child, even if childish still, and so is better not mentioned today. But the other one is definitely a childhood memory, even if I do write it in third person and using foreign language - all in hope of rmoving it into the "stories someone told me" part of my mind.

This was a birthday party in collective farm village. Lots of middle-aged relatives, lots of greasy food. The children had already eaten their fill and now shouted and ran around in adjoining room. Some bottles were already empty, voices raised, everyone talking and no one listening already, but uncle Alf was not drunk enough to start singing : "Freedom to Estonian sea, freedom to Estonian land, no place for fear in Estonian heart..." Uncle Alf always sang that song, even if he was a German himself.

The girl did not approve drinking. At 11 her covictions were rock-hard and total abstinence was one of them. She sat, bored, but still not ready to join other children. The grown-us had reached the right mood for reminiscenes. But most irritating thing about the people was, that even if they had lived thorough the exiting times the girl just studied in history lessons, they always seemed to remember the wrong things. They never told anything about the war or the fight against the capitalist oppressors after the war. Only look at them, what are they talking about now! About this old ditty, that says the poor Russian collective farmer has to marry to taste any milk, as he is not allowed to keep a goat... She did not understand that one. But one never asked the grown ups to explain some jokes. That she knew.

She resented being ignored by everyone and she could not think out anything to say. Then, when uncle Endel, who was ameliorator in collective farm, started another story about stupidity of the local party leaders, she got a revelation. What a luck! It does not happen so often that one catches grown-ups in making a mistake. Of course, pointing out mistakes of older people was rude, but this was going to be her great moment! She waited till a convenient lull in the conversation made a perfect stage to her.

"What an anti-Soviet crowd we have here!" she said loudly.

Everyone heard her, but somehow it was not great moment at all. Silence dragged on. She had been prudent enough to avoid looking at her parents, but this also turned out to be a mistake. Her glance was caught by uncle Alf.

His face still haunts her dreams. It was the worst of it - she had done something to him and she did not know what it was. Uncle Alf could not be so without face just over a rude child?

NOTE: as my malicious luck wished it, uncle Alfs story was the kind not told to children, but I do know it now. Uncle Alf spent ten years in Sovie consentration camp. For spreading anti-soviet rumors, of all things. Times had changed, but uncle still did not need an underage relative singing about him to KGB...

-- Anonymous, May 21, 1999

When I was about 13, my mom and I were driving past a yard sale when she turned around and went back to it. She'd seen a hair dryer - the kind they have in beauty salons. You set it on a counter and sit in a chair and put the dealy on your head. You know what I mean. Anyway, I knew my mom wouldn't keep it in her bathroom, and I would have been so embarrassed if someone had seen it. I mean, my -friends- came over! So when she made me get out of the car to go ask how much it was, I hemmed and hawed and whined and I didn't want to ask, but I did. The guy told me $6, but I went back to the car and told my mom he wanted $20 for it. She got all frustrated because $20 was -way- too much to pay for someone's ratty old salon dryer. So we left. To this day, I still feel horrible guilt for denying my mother her salon hairdryer. And it bothers me so much that not only do I still remember the house where the yard sale took place, but I get a twinge when I drive by it!

-- Anonymous, May 21, 1999

One: that story from Maggie and that picture...KILLED me. I fell out. It was pure nostalgic genius.

Two: I propose to Andy and/or his alter-ego and get no response. Foiled again at an attempt for happiness.

-- Anonymous, May 25, 1999

Wow, Andrew. I'm really glad I read those stories.

For some reason I had this idea that only geek girls like me got blown off cruelly by heartless cute boys in high school. I forgot about the geek boys with crushes on the Homecoming Queen.

I wish I could've had that perspective back then; I'd have felt better.

-- Anonymous, June 09, 1999