I couldn’t believe I did that!  I looked at the map of the area I had just drawn.  It was a map of the neighborhood in which I lived in my early childhood years.  Sure enough, there, in bold, number-2 lead pencil, were etched two houses, much larger than all the other tiny little squares on the map. They stood out like colossal structures; these were the homes of my cousin Bertha and my friend Sarah.

I always felt not quite as good as they or the other children I played with. I guess I blamed these feelings on lack of material things.  Much later, in my middle years, I would recognize the true reasons neighbors whispered behind my back and peers shunned my presence.

Like opening the lock on a dam, the memories began to flow.  How interesting to look at the map and see the disproportionate size of these two houses that I subconsciously drew.  I was amazed at how they compared to all the others in this, the area of my origin.  It rekindled the feelings I had through childhood, adolescence and even into adulthood; the feelings of being poor, of not being on the same social standing as my peers; the embarrassment I would feel wearing homemade and hand-me-down clothes.

Somewhere I read that an exercise such as drawing a physical map of where one had lived would open floodgates of memories.  What an understatement!  Am I brave enough to write the truth as I remember it?  Am I brave enough even to recall the memories of my childhood years?  Do you suppose anyone would believe them anyway?  Perhaps I will proceed, knowing I can never tell it all…