Whenever I think about my early childhood, say to about age 6, I remember it as
being idyllic. My parents had household help, my personality was such that I was
not scolded or punished often and I remember being able to play as much as I wanted.
The days of being bullied by an older sister (whom I think about often) had not
yet materialized because the housekeeper made sure that didn’t happen and I can
remember sitting on the grass on a sunny day eating a freshly peeled orange with
just the right amount of salt to make it taste even yummier! I can feel the sun
on my face as I sit with no important thoughts of tasks to be undertaken.
Everything changed when we went to live in New York, far away from family and
friends and certainly in no economical shape to be hiring housekeepers to take care
of us or household chores. Very quickly my life changed from one of being pampered
to being a latchkey kid with lots of responsibilities at a young age. I look upon
my childhood with a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia, blaming no one really but
hoping that one day I can write all these feelings and stories in a book that will
be worthwhile reading for my now-adult children.