My formica bead

My past...

The table sat under a window in the small kitchen at the rear of the house. It had a formica top. Doors from the kitchen opened into the living room and Mother and Daddy's bedroom which I supposed was actually meant to be a dining room. In that living room, Daddy rocked me to sleep and carried me to bed. Mother let me take a nap in her bed with my blanket decorated with chenille stiches. Daddy talked me out of running away from home in my bedroom at the back of the house. I heard the gunshot from the trailer where I stayed sometimes while Mother ran errands. My puppy, Skippy, was hit and killed by teenage boy who lived up the street. All of these memories and more come to mind when I look at my formica bead. They all combine to make me who I am now.