Isn’t it funny/strange the things we remember from childhood and then there’s things that don’t stand out at all?
Like why do I so vividly remember my mother’s disdain for blue toenail polish? I bet even she doesn’t remember it. She had a dream that I was killed in a car wreck while with the church youth group on the church van, and the only way she was able to identify my body was by my blue toe nails.
It’s strange to me how that stands out in my memory some 17 years or so later, to the point where even now I’m hesitant to paint my toes blue.
Memory is a funny thing.