If and when I write an autobiography, these three stories would be some of the most likely candidates for a story from childhood.
#1: Popped Chicken? Chicken Boxes? No, chicken pox. This dreadful disease struck our family around 2011-12. For 1-2 weeks, we were all sick and stuck, and covered with rashes and scabs. Thankfully, it did not last forever. Because it happened when I was only 8, it was not as severe as it could have been, and I don’t really remember it much. The half of the family which existed at that point is now immune, and the only trace left is the large amount of pocket mark scars I still bear.
#2: Trip to Italy. In the fall of 2008, my dad taught for a semester in a town called Citerna. This small town is almost smack in the middle of Italy, where our family, then of 5, stayed for six months. During the time we stayed there, we saw most of Italy’s major sites: in Rome, the Coliseum and the Vatican; in Florence, the great library and the Duomo, etc. We even went over to Greece at one point. Most of the Faulkner students who came with us were nice, and William made a fool of himself in front of them all on one occasion, singing a silly version of “Rock you like a
Hurricane Hotdog.” The part that I remember the most, however, is a scene that really involved only me, my dad, and a candy shop.
It was just another day at the hotel where we had been staying for so long. I don’t know the exact circumstances which surrounded this event, but I do remember it. For some reason or other, I decided I would steal a half euro Lion candy bar from the concession stand. I don’t know how (maybe no one was there), but I managed to pull it off. I had taken it back up to the hotel room, but my dad was there and he said:
“Edward, where did you get that candy bar?”
“One of the students gave it to me,” I replied.
“I don’t remember.”
So he lined up all of the students, and asked them one by one: “Did you give Edward this candy bar?” After they had all said No, he took me back upstairs, and gave me a firm lecture and a spanking. The Lion was returned, and I cried for a long time.
That is the only time during our stay that I really remember well. Strange. Or maybe not so much.
#3: September, 2011. This was an important day for me, because it was literally a life changer. I had been brought up in a Christian home, but this was the follow-through. This was the day I was baptized. I was fully repented of my theft, and I felt ready. We were at the Hampstead neighborhood pool. Our family were the only people there to watch. I was in a swimsuit and shirt. As Daddy dunked me in the pool with the words “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” this was the time when I really began to get serious about my faith.
That concludes my essay on the three most likely stories to put in my autobiography.