Childhood, with its endless collection of memories and experiences, is the golden chalice of storytelling and writing. There’s something unique about our early memories, when we experience something for the very first time. Fairy tales, fishing, seeing a snake, catching a grasshopper, riding a horse, even seeing a mouse in the house for the first time all leave a lasting impression worthy of a story later in life. We’re more alive as a child, taking note of things of very little importance that go on to shape who we become. Despite what adults do not know, children pay close attention to them, especially the older ones who have begun to wrinkle and sag. I guess it’s curiosity, but children are fascinated with tobacco stained fingers, teeth that can be removed, wire-rimmed spectacles, large ears, blue veins under paper thin skin, and hair that seems to grow right out of old people’s ears. Some kids stare, others, the inquisitive ones, reach out to experience touch. The sound of a storm, the smell of a hospital and the taste of spinach — stories galore reside with those memories if we brush back the foggy static we’ve accumulated since we grew older and quit paying attention to the little things in life. Kids feel the emotion of the moment, remembering the first time they saw their momma cry, the first funeral they went to, and the first bloody nose they ever saw. Memories fade with time but they never fully disappear. We just have to take the time to recall them, write them, tell them.