Curls and bushy eyebrows. Hidden hazel eyes. A dimpled grin. Blue on Blue. Sweater on Sweats. Dirty feet in grainy sand. No worries, there are no crabs here to fear. Crashing. Swaying. The Lake-water liquid heaven to my own dancing body racing into the salt-less sea of opportunity.

Olive cheeks bulging with ripe berries. Hands cupping a pond-caught toad. Curls laced with backyard daisies. Racing through golden fields of grass. Laughing as the neighbors’ hound chases me into prickly wooded grounds.

Hazel eyes glancing through the holes of a farmers fence. Spotted Pot-belly piglets wiggling coiled tails and snorting choppy hellos. Snipped carrots poking their offerings through fence holes. Giggles. Laughter. Curls covering sun-brightened freckles.

Sun setting up for bed, ashy knees bending between worn-down shorts and muddied rain boots. Sweet sugar kissed lemonade. Sweet chocolate covered fingers licked clean by a cherry tongue. Sweet irreplaceable time with Daddy, enjoying a gas station and an ice cream cone. Friday, the golden day of Kindergarten.

Yellow houses. Yellow crayons. Yellow puzzle pieces.

A big A-plus on my picture of a giraffe. Discovering the existence of purple tongues.

Daddy pushing me in the tire swing. Wind. Excitement. Fear overcome with admiration for the sun.

Callused hands from gripping on too tight.

Swings. Monkey bars. Teeter-totters.

An exhilarating up. A terrifying down. Tears that turned into a band-aid and a lollipop.

Go. Go. Go. I won’t let go.

Daddy did let go.

Two-wheeling down a cracked path. Dodging dozens of tiny ants.

Two wheels. Two Hands. A helmet clicked tight.

An unexpected laughing freedom.

Eyes distracted by the orange sun. Tire Tripping. Hands flying. Fingers scraping. Blood trickling.

Knees pulling me back up. Smile grinning from ear to ear. Scars as trophies.

Sun-burnt ears. Splotches of pastie sunscreen. Bum wet and kissed with sand as little toes trot along the smooth sand.

Daisy picking, sunset watching, carrot chopping, pancake dipping childhood.

I don’t know when I started straightening my curls.

I don’t know when my freckles were covered with fear.

But I do know that the happiest moments influenced my character just as much as the painful ones.

Tune in next week for the next section of my official book draft.