Food for Thought

If I were to write a letter about all those I am thankful for, even if it might consist of a few fictional characters, the list would be as long as the decimal PI written out. Although I suppose I can try.

I am thankful for my father. He taught me how to use a fork and knife. The knife always goings in your dominant hand while the fork is held in your non dominant. Once you are done cutting, you can seamlessly switch to move the fork from your plate to mouth with minor damage along the way.  Even though Cheerios weren't my favorite, I would still eat them for you. When I got older and one morning you explained that you ate the Special K breakfast cereal for me, it meant the world and so I ate the sugared cardboard. Luckily this time I didn't throw up like I did when I was made to eat a tuna sandwich. Fortunately you never made me eat anything I didn't want to again, minus the extra spaghetti sauce I drowned my pasta in and the leftover milk from a hearty bowl of cereal, carefully airlifted from the pool of white to my child lips by a thin sliver of metal I grasped in my hand fearful of spilling. I remember the night I asked you to read a story I wrote and my sixth grade grammatical skills were not up to par, and are still not hence my horribly atrocious run on sentences and lack of hyphens when needed, but you smiled and told me you liked it. A year after that I had just gotten into your car and something was different. I know you saw the scars and fresh wounds on my leg, peeking out under the hem of my shorts, where the all my secrets were stored. You didn't say anything, but you let me know I could come to you. Even though I never took you up on your offer, it was very much appreciated.

Child's Play - A Memoir by Drake

All of my memories kinda reach the same level, none really stick out with more details than another.
Although I can recall numerous afternoons spent at my babysitter's house in Rogersville.
My mom would drop me off in the morning before work, usually still sleepy and presented in pajamas. The morning would consist of our group's favorite cartoons, such as spongebob or Scooby Doo.
As the others would arrive and the weather would gather warmth, our energy increased.
Some days we would pretend to be characters for The Incredibles movie - I would always be Violet, because who doesn't want to be invisible? I could say that by playing the character that is invisible, it was a symbol of how I would feel all through growing up, and while that is true, I really just thought she was pretty.
On the afternoons we ventured outside, we would ride tricycles and climb on the profane  tank that resided next to the path connecting the babysitter's house and her daughter hair salon.
There was a jungle gym at the edge of her property, looking over the cow pasture of her son's, hidden behind a forest of small tangled leaves and trees. It creaked and groaned, threatening to break down any time someone would dare to try and swing.
Off to the side, next to the gate of the pasture, there was a fruit tree. Not too far from that, a blackberry bush was the pot of golden at the end of the rainbow.
For lunch, we were served a gourmet meal of ravioli and some kind of vegetable. After we had a clean plate, there was a choice of red jello or a popsicle. During the summer everyone would choose a popsicle. At the end of our devouring, we would have a contest of who had the most juice left after their popsicle.
Naps were the most dreaded part of the day.  Sometimes I would have to sleep on the couch in the husband's office - that was the worst. It was dark and intimidating. Other times I would sleep on the couch in the living room. The one that was almost a love seat but just big enough for me to curl and stretch as I pleased. I've never been good at sleeping, hence why I popularly sport the raccoon look nowadays, and most afternoons I would lay on the couch for an hour, tossing and turning, observing my surroundings.

I would ask to see my dad. We would sit at the kitchen table and eat our cheerios. Soon we'd go to Gillenwaters like we use to when I was younger. He'd bring a tennis ball or something similar and push me in the swing. He'd throw the ball and I'd catch it. Afterwards we would go home and eat a bowl of strawberries, bananas, and milk, maybe watermelon. Afterwards I'd comply and utilize the math flash cards I always detested. I'd sit in the recliner with him and read him my favorite page with the chipmunk and Bonnie in the Highlights magazine. Before a nutritious dinner of french toast and lemonade, I'd build him a cake of legos. After dinner, my mom would pick me up, and I would take a bath with all of my barbies and little pet shops. My mom would tuck me in and sing our goodnight songs.

I wish I didn't know how my father regards me. I wish I didn't know all the things he and my mother went through. Why they divorced. How their marriage was. I wish I didn't know how he thinks or could act.