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I can’t say that I remember too much about my early childhood. Things like what my home used to look like before renovation, what my father looked like with longer hair, and why I chose to paint my room lilac are all memories that have escaped the confines of my head as I have gotten older. However, distinct and strange memories have stuck around to be remembered by me, mostly memories of my brothers and our highly emotional and volatile interactions with one another.
It seems to me that most successfully recalled memories occurred around the always eventful family dinners at my home. I can distinctly recollect, through the hazy memory-eyes of my four-year-old self, the instance when I sat down at the dinner table listening to my eldest brother, seven years my ... |