When wandering through the childhood recollections that populate the archives of my memories, I am astounded at the variety. Some memories are precious and cherished. Others are traumatic and painful. All of them unite and create the unique me. I cannot embrace the pleasant experiences and renounce the grievous episodes for it is only together that they complete my life. Far back nestled in the shadowy corners of my memory, I am still a three-year-old little girl in my great-grandfather’s farmhouse. If you sat me down today in the middle of the house, I probably would not recognize the walls or the rooms or the layout but I know I would still feel the house. My mind sees shadows. I do not know if that is because the house was shadowy. Maybe other memories have darkened this one or maybe my little-girl self was just lost in the shadows of the adults. My parents, my younger brother and I had just come from Germany where the U.S. Air Force had stationed my dad and Jimmy and I were born. W
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