My very first memory, in this lifetime at least, is of a van. One of those vans we might call a “rapist van” nowadays. You know – boxy – with tiny circular windows on the sides, tinted black. I don’t know. I thought it was cool. It had aluminum wheels with beefy tires and sat parked in the neighbor’s backyard. Don’t even think they drove it. Just sat there all day looking cool.
I guess my parents let me toddle around in our backyard quite often, because I returned to the fence enough to peer through and burn the image of that van into memory.
I think one time my mother pulled me away and I fussed.
I wanted to be in that van. Not with a rapist or anything. Just wanted to go on an adventure. Building blocks are boring.