The Death of My Garden

When I was about eight years old, I had a wooden box that I filled with dirt. It was my own personal garden. I planted beans and other seeds and enjoyed watching my plants grow a little each day. One day, I went out to look at my garden and found that the entire box was gone. I asked everyone I knew and found out that a dog belonging to another child had died and that some of the boys in the neighborhood wanted a casket to bury the dog. They took and destroyed my garden and used the box as a casket. I still get angry whenever someone takes something that belongs to me.

You're Fired

When I was a small child, perhaps six years old, my father talked with my mother about someone who did something bad at work. My father said that they fired him. I believed that this meant that they threw him into a stove and burnt him up. I still have a clear picture in my mind of a huge stove with a roaring fire inside and a door big enough to throw in a bad grown-up. I became afraid that if I were not good my parents would also fire me by throwing me into a big stove.