How Does it Begin?

First off, WOW! Thank you so much for all of the feedback, encouragement and support

you all have given me after I posted a small portion of my memoir. Some of you lovely humans have asked how does it start? I know, it was strange posting the third chapter and not the first two, but at the time, it was speaking to me. But now that YOU have spoken to me, this is how it all begins... enjoy 💜 - MRJ

p.s I am NOT posting this entire chapter, yet due to the use of real names of individuals. I have used real names thus far in my writing, however, I will need to change names later for certain individuals and I am just not to that point yet.

Ch. 1 Flashcards, A Sandbox and Chicle

My earliest memories include a sandbox, flashcards and a pack of gum. Before I started elementary school, I stayed with my grandmother all day while my brother went to kindergarten. Although I was 4 years old when I started kindergarten, my mother thought I was ready at 3 years old. Every parent must think their child is the smartest, although, I must admit, I was pretty intelligent. And every adult who crossed paths with me thought so too. 

  In order to get enrolled in school early, I was required to take a test. I very vividly remember walking into Johnnycake Elementary school and having a seat at a table across from a lady. She had a smile on her face and flashcards. I remember, to this day, she showed me a flashcard of a butterfly. My first thought when she asked, “What is this?” Seriously? What do you think I am, stupid? My tiny fragile mind said to itself. It’s a butterfly. If damn was in my vocabulary at the time, I’m sure I would have said, “It’s a damn butterfly.” Instead of saying what the picture on the card was, I rolled my eyes, sat quietly and stared at her. Yup. I rolled my eyes and sat there. Card after card, silence so thick, she kept going. I vaguely remember her trying a different activity, asking me for my name, what did I like to do for fun. Then, she showed me a few other flashcards, numbers and such and walked me back to my mother. Later, my mom asked me why I didn’t speak to the lady. Very clearly, looking my mother dead in her eyes, I stated, “Because, YOU  told me not to talk to strangers.” 

That should have been a tell-tale sign of the relationship Lisa and I would have. I was a great child; I followed directions, I obeyed rules. I didn’t want to mess up, I didn’t want to let anyone down. In trying to be perfect, I have always managed to come up short, one way or another, despite my best efforts. This is my first memory I can recall as an adult.

The second memory I can recall is when I met my childhood best friend. As I mentioned, my grandmother was stuck with me all day because I didn’t speak to the lady at the school. Granny and I became frequent visitors to our neighborhood park. I’m not sure if it’s because Granny liked to be outside, out of the house, or she wanted me to develop play and social skills. After-all, I was her shadow. Wherever she went, I went. Whatever she was doing, I wanted to do. I never had a chance to ask her why we went to the park so much, but I do wonder. One day at the playground I was playing in the sandbox, alone and content. Out sprang this blonde haired, rambunctious child. She was the same size as me, but definitely younger...

My first best friend, my Granny. Mrs. Shirley Rafinello

My first non-adult best friend.