There is a vivid memory that I have from my childhood.
It's probably my earliest memory too.
When I was 3 I drew all over our bright yellow toilet door with a silver paint pen.
BUT, this is not my memory.
My memory starts when I got up the next morning and did it again. Yep, again!
I remember getting a chair and climbing up to get the pen down.
I remember vividly the vindictiveness behind my actions, knowing damn well what I was doing was wrong but wanting to get back at my parents.
I remember thinking, "This will show them for telling me off."
Because in my under developed but cunning three year old mind I had the brilliant idea of getting back at them by going over the original drawing and therefore getting away with it.
I remember thinking, "They'll never know."
I remember looking at my handiwork and assuring myself they won't notice the 3 different areas I strayed off the lines.
I remember the smug, satisfied feeling that spread from my face to my toes.
I remember climbing up and putting the pen back, covering my tracks.
Of course, according to my mum, the drawing was completely different. So obvious that I'd done it a second time that it was almost laughable. (That's not how I remember it).
I don't remember the punishment I received either times. Or ever having the desire to draw on the giant canvases that were the walls and doors of our house again but I do now have sympathy for my mum. I can only imagine how exasperated she would have felt when she got up to go to the bathroom that morning and found my revenge.
And what really worries me is Eva becomes more and more like me everyday.
|Me at 4 - Butter wouldn't melt.... yeah right.|