This is a quote from one of my three favorite books, all written by the same author. I think everyone should read his books. He helps you appreciate good literature, the diversity in relationships, and true, real, deep, and sometimes disturbing love. I'm re-reading this one and I am even more appreciative than before.
I have some of the strangest memories of my childhood up until high school. Most are random, mediocre things that happened, pointlessly remembered. I remember sitting at the dinner table with mom and dad (before they were divorced) and having steak and crinkle-cut French fries. No vegetable (weird for my mom, right?). I had dad cut the steak (something he did for me up until probably a couple years ago—through if I asked him to cut my steak for me tomorrow, he would without the slightest bit of hesitation). I shoved the steak chunks to one side and the fries to the other, and filled the middle of the plate with as much ketchup the place would allow. And that is it (though I’m sure mom told me not to use so much ketchup). I don’t know why I remember those small, insignificant details. I suppose that is just it though—this memory seems so pointless, but it has a place in my past, my life, my brain, and for some reason it has always felt special.
Maybe just because I never forgot.
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