We all have different memories. Now I am trying to write about my past and I am calling on my sisters and brother Bill for some verifications of these lovely stories. Once again it’s like that Indian story “The Blind Men and the Elephant”, each blind man feels a part of the same Elephant, but each of them describes it differently. As any cop can tell you, you can have 1,798 eyewitness accounts of the same accident and none of them will match.
Looks rather like my childhood. I find my siblings’ memories are different from mine. It’s like all we all were at the “scene of the accident”, our family. And we all contain different versions on the same story. I guess this is where our individual lives intersect and become a family memory. So have patience, and have humor, and take a look from the farside that’s just where my seat was located . This is the way things appeared to me.
The lucky one, your sister