Childhood. Or rather, the memories I have of it. (parrt 1)

If I had to describe my childhood I would say these things:
Eventful.
Seasonal.
Imperfect.
Bright.

There was never a dull moment when I was growing up. I suppose that's how everyone's mind is. Just remembering the special events. But I remember more than most kids do, I think.

The farthest I can remember is being 4 years old. I remember the sunrise in the murky April sky over Salt Lake City, Utah. Everything was bright. Our new apartment was at garden level, but it was okay. My bed was bright white, KK's was bright pink. Later, though not too far into the future I would get my head stuck in the side of that bed. Our space would become ocupied by two more delicate beings, our cats, Gato (the siamese that belonged to KK, because at such an age you can still hold animals as your own) and Mow (the simple white cat who died of a heart disease after giving birth to TONS of kittens. Seriously. That cat would make octomom jealous.). I remember the day I was sick, and mom took me to work with her. On the way, we went to albertson's, and since it was close to valentine's day, they had some cute little stuffed animals out. Mom bought me one. I named him fluffy.

At age 5, I remember starting school at Crestview. I remember KK's crush, Crosby. And I remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Kennington. She wasn't nice. I suppose the fault of why I don't like autority lies on her shoulders. She was like Ursula, only fatter. I remember the day the firemen came to talk to us, and I made a fireman hat. Mom keeps a picture of that somewhere. Little me, with straight teeth and tangled hair, wearing a paper hat colored red. I remember saying goodbye to the kids in my class when we told them we were moving.

At age 6, I remember going to school at Mountain Shadows. I can't remeber my first grade teachers name. She wasn't as bad as Mrs. Kennington, but she wasn't nice either. I remember walking into the boy's bathrooms and the teacher showing us so we wouldn't be curious and want to go in later. I remember the first crush I ever really had. CF. He was the epitamy of cute to me in those days. (I just took the time to look him up on facebook. WEIRD). I  remember realizing that the seasons really did change. I remember my sisters best friend BBM. He was cute. I remember Kaileeth, whos name I use freely because there is no lastname in my memory for her. I remember the little mexican kid who used to hand out with us, Mikey. He was not cute. I remember the taking of this picture:

I wore those snowboots everyday. Fluffy was 2 in this picture. Young'n. My last memory of being 5 was hearing my mom and my grandpa fighting. Who knew that would be the main song on the playlist of my youth.

Being 6 doesn't have as many memories. There was Mrs. Dean. She was wonderful. She let us keep preying mantises in the class and she told us the truth. She was one of the only teachers I saw cry when the planes crashed on 9/11/02. She cried for hours. That day is burned into my memory. Walking onto the back playground, the one that the little kids could use, and Dillon (everyone called him lion) telling me that there were 2 plane crashes. I argued with him about it until we walked into class, and Mrs. Dean was crying. She was not just tearing up either. There were the big heavy sobs, the tears, and the sadden air about her to tell me that Dillion was telling the truth.

Being 7 was the worst. I'm pretty sure nothing good happened when I was seven years old. I was walking to the breadstore with my sister, and she was ahead of me. I was crossing the street when a car hit me. I was fine, but the paramedics still came. No bruises. My lucky day. I was walking back from RG's house when Mikey's dog attacked me. Her name was Baby, and she was anything but small. She chased me while I screamed. I still dont like pittbulls no matter how harmless they are. Mikey had just become my best friend, and he never spoke to me after that. We had kissed on the monkey bars in my backyard. My first kiss. With a mexican. KK and I were playing a game with some neighbor kids and I went inside to cut up and orange. I cut my finger open, and had to get it glued. Then I was playing in my backyard, and I fell off a metal swing set and and broke my arm.



I, Penstemon Koda, amd getting tired. So I will finish this instalment tomorrow after I send Paul home for the night. Goodnight.