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I remember string blanky. My blanket that was woven from many pastel colored strings. Whenever I needed a piece of string, which was quite common, I ripped a string out which explained the large number of holes in my blanket. I also had a small stuffed lion. I lost the lion one winter in the snow, but I somehow got another identicle one. It might have been from my little sister Leah who asked her kindergarden teacher for it. I can’t really remember.

Every person I drew was composed of a circle and four sticks. I remember making a pillow with these type of stick people drawn on it. The threads holding the seam eventually ripped and I used the pillow stuffing for another project.
I remember a kid named David biting my hand because he wanted my toy. The weird part about this memory is that I see myself from a third person perspective. I can see the teacher taking me to the bathroom and putting my hand in the sink to wash it off.
In kindergarden class, the boys would chase a girl named Suzanne around the room. She seemed to like it and so did they. I didn’t join the chase. I had a crush on the teacher’s daughter, who had to be about sixteen at the time and sometimes helped out with the arts and craft area. I saw her again for the first time in a long time a few years ago, and she was remarkably attractive and was working as a nurse in the hospital.
The reoccuring nightmare I had most often was one where my sisters and I were in a minivan on the street outside our house at 371 Tollgate Road, and then the parking brake was taken off and we slowly started rolling down the large hill. A man turned his head around from the drivers seat and smiled and then I’d wake up.