I do remember...

I remember a lot of things from my early childhood. I remember my bulky cloth diapers... I remember the crinkly sound my rubber cover made... I remember sitting on the couch hugging my knees and staring at the floor, watching, scared, because a snake got loose and hadn't been found yet... I remember crawling into the kitchen while my mom was cooking supper. I tried to let her know I was thirsty and wanted milk, but she was in the middle of making supper, so I waited on the floor by the fridge. When she reached in to grab something, I kept it open a bit to get the milk myself. I climbed into the fridge and scaled the racks. I almost made it to the milk before the racks came out with a bunch of stuff on top of me. I still have a scar on the inside of my left elbow where the shattered pickle jar sliced into my two year-old skin... I remember the commotion my resourcefulness caused, as my mom and dad whisked me into the overly yellow bathroom, where I sat on the counter-top by the sink... I remember the blood all over my arm... I remember it was warm and looked so dark under the yellow light... I remember my dads eyes flashing wild with what could have been shock or anger, I don't know. My moms' face full of concern, likely both for me and the fact that now supper would be delayed... I remember that my dad was an impatient, angry, distant man.