Tag: childhood memories
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The Language Before Language Before we knew lyrics, before we understood meaning, before we could even form memories that stick—there was sound. Not music in the polished, Spotify sense. Not something you’d queue up or analyze. Something softer. Closer. More instinct than performance. A hum. My family didn’t just sing—we hummed. And that matters. Humming…
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Proof that theatre wasn’t the only place I experimented with identity We’ve already covered theatre pretty thoroughly, so this might surprise you, but I didn’t put all my eggs in one dramatic basket. I dipped my toe into other activities too. Briefly. Casually. Sometimes successfully. Sometimes just long enough to realize, ah, this is not…
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The Man and the Child None of us actually remember seeing them.My mom told us about it years later—at least a decade after it happened. Apparently, when we were really little—around three to five years old—all three of us kids saw the same thing: a man and a child. Different years.Different rooms.Same description. We each…
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What the Body Remembers I don’t have many memories of my Grandpa—I was eight or nine when he passed—but the ones I do have are vivid. Cemented.And the clearest of all? His energy hugs. Whenever we walked into the house, my Grams was there first—ready with her lipstick kisses and her “Hi, sweetie!”—and then we’d…