Splashing around while being bathed, taking great care to not look up at a big round black hole in the ceiling. A hole that was threatening and scary and led into a nightmarish unknown. A strange memory, because my mother does not remember the terrifying hole. Maybe it was imagined, but the feeling of fear it engendered in me was not and is vivid still.
A grey frizzy-haired teacher in a frock. Rapping my knuckles with a pencil, for some alphabet-writing that went wrong. God bless her, wherever she is, my nursery teacher. The alphabets she taught me have given me immeasurable joy ever since.
Carrying a neighbour’s baby brother and inadvertently dropping him to the floor. And being frozen with fear and guilt, with everyone around looking at me as if at an evil witch. Babies have never endeared themselves to me since then.
For a tag by Musings