Once Upon a Time: True Stories of an Aspiring Writer

1: Portrait of the Writer as a Young Preschooler

I COULD SEE everything from my windows.

Every day when I wasn't in preschool, I would sit in my stark white living room and look out the window, waiting for my neighbor, Katie, to come home off the bus. Houses were close to each other, and there were many. 

If I was lucky, an---Australian Shepherd, maybe---called Chase would be a few doors down, playing in the yard. I didn't know the family personally. I vaguely recalled stopping by a crowded house party once and watching a few young guys play pool there, but that may have been a dream. Still, I enjoyed watching the spirited boy run around or do whatever he did. 

Of course, I enjoyed Brittany, my own dog. She was a lovable goofball who didn't mind when I dressed her in my tutus or stacked my toy letters on top of her or organized her dog food. But Chase was amusing too. 

Good thing the outside was interesting. Our parents weren't big on decorating. Our living and dining room walls were plain white with cream carpet. Other than a piano, and later, baby Emily's changing table, nothing much was in the bare white living room either. Color came from the presence of play. I do remember my plastic tent taking up residence there, as well as some toy boxes. 

The house opened up to a small foyer with shiny hardwood floors; the living room and steps to the right and the dining room to the left. Go down the hall and you'd reach the kitchen, with yellow walls and a sliding door leading to the back patio. To the right of that was a small family room, where we watched TV. 

There was also the recently finished basement with classroom-style lighting, new-smelling carpet, and built-in shelves for games where I taught a class of imaginary dogs. We had it done ourselves. My sister Kelly loved talking to "the guys," aka the contractors, whenever they came to work. Later, when it was finished, we loved to play the flashlight game there, shining a plastic flashlight every which way and trying to get the other to catch it. 

There was also a computer room---decked out in Dad's vintage golf decor and dark green walls, where we played CD-ROM games such as Pet Shop, A Bug's Life, and more kiddie games like those---and a kitty room, an extra bedroom that we chalked up as a place where the cats liked to hang out. Later, it would become my little sister Emily's room. Mom worked hard creating a 101 Dalmatians theme in the room. The smell of Sharpie was always evident as she would trace puppies on the walls. Sadly, we moved soon after and the work was for naught. I'd heard that the new people painted over everything a week after they moved in. 

I had a love-hate relationship with my own small room. Classic Pooh was everywhere--not modern Pooh. I had a classic Pooh comforter, Pooh lining the ceiling, a Pooh pillow, a Pooh growth chart, and pale yellow walls to match. Though I liked Pooh, I was over it. I did like my little bookshelf that was home to old preschool puzzles with four different pieces to place in slots. Kelly would sometimes go in there and try to work through them, while asking, "Where does this piece goes?" 

I think my favorite room was the upstairs bathroom, decked out in fish. A Rainbow Fish decal hung out on the wall beside the toilet paper roll, and a wooden fish mobile hung above the toilet. The walls were a teal blue, to match the sea. 

I lived in a large neighborhood of midsize Toll Brothers homes, all pretty close together, so I could easily go out the back gate to visit the neighbors behind us, which I did sometimes. But we also loved eating Domino's pizza on the brick patio on summer nights, and picking tomatoes from the plants along the left side of the yard---the days well before my mom had her professional garden. 

The whole neighborhood was a great place to walk dogs. There were so many ways you could go; many paths to choose from. You'd see more houses than nature, although there was a swamp around the corner on Redfield. There was also a small hill leading to a little reservoir.  One time we encountered some kids trying to put on a magic show in their driveway (they didn't do very well). Another time we ran into some kids yelling at passersby to save the bald eagles. Dad told me they were junior high kids. I didn't know what junior high was, but it sounded like a cool big-kid thing.