Remembering the Wrong Things
I have flashes of memory from living in Royal Oak: I remember taking one of those red "pencil" things that came with the magic drawing pads you could get in the toy section of the grocery store - you know what I mean; you'd draw a picture on the plastic sheet on top, and the places you pressed the "pencil" kind of stuck to the black mushy stuff on the board, then you could erase it buy pulling up the sheet. So anyway, Mom was in the kitchen doing someone's (Aunt Weiss?) hair and I took that red pencil thing and poked a hole in the bag of birdseed! Naughty, right? Well it gets worse! I then told Mom that "someone", but not me, poked a hole in the bag. Her near complete lack of response was enough to break me, and I confessed to the whole malfeasance immediately. I also remember having cut my hair (but not the actual cutting) and denying it, exercising with Jack LaLanne in the afternoons, swiping a fingerful of frosting from a cake, trying to figure ...