My earliest memory is from the little house we lived in behind my Grand parents house on Central Avenue in Winchester. I recieved a gift of a huge and beautiful Bible story book. The cover was decorated in gold and the stories were ilustrated with drawings in vivid colors. I was so proud and excited by it. Mother read me stories from it but I begged for glasses so I could read them myself when she was busy.
One day I was playing with a friend in the sandbox my father had constructed in the front yard. I ran into the house to get my big, beautiful book to share with my friend. My next memory is being spanked and shown the book laying covered with sand in the box. I don't remember the spanking as much as the horror of seeing my most precious possesion laying there like a dirty piece of trash and the guilt I had for doing such a thing to myself. Perhaps this is the reason I have always treated books carefully and with respect.