My first concrete memory is being
at kindergarten, four years old I guess.
And my mother’s grandfather had died.
I didn’t know him well, but I remember when
my grandfather bought his dad to visit and
he didn’t have much time left on his count.
He gave us his watch – perhaps because
he knew he wouldn’t be needing it much longer.
And he gave us an old pocket-knife. I took
the knife to kindergarten for show and tell.
And I wasn’t planning to open it up – I just
liked the handle. But my mum arrived
far too quickly to pick me up that day.
The teachers had taken the knife from me,
and I was sent home. In disgrace. Mum was furious
– and told me so. My first poor choice in life.