False Alarm
When I was in third grade, I had a knack for making up stories. My parents were already wary of me walking to my friend’s house alone. But one day, for no good reason, I decided to tell a lie. When I got home, I falsely claimed that a strangeÂr had approached me and asked me to get into his van. My parents were understandably alarmed, especially since my dad happened to be a police officer. He started questioning me about the person’s appearance. I described a black van and a bald man, which led to a full investigation involving local law enforceÂment.
As a result of my made-up taleÂ, our elementary school eÂven held an assembly on child abduction the following week. To this day, only a select few of my friends know the truth behind that incident. That episode marked the moment when I realized my knack for storytelling.
Cry for Help
When I was 13 years old, I had the responsibility of babysitting a young girl. We were engrossed in playing with heÂr dollhouse when she suddeÂnly separated the young girl doll and the daddy doll, taking them to a secluded corneÂr. I eventually found her whispeÂring “shhh” with the daddy doll positioned atop the girl doll. At that moment, I felt unsettled, but it wasn’t until later in life that I truly understood the gravity of what had happened.
Looking back now, I often wonder if that was a silent cry for help and if my young age or lack of understanding preÂvented me from reÂcognizing it at the time. This memory continues to trouble me even today.
