Memories, like life itself, is at best fleeting.  What you feel or remember is paramount.  But what remembrance instills that spark so many, if you’ve lived long enough.  What to choose?

A memory from my childhood comes to mind.  Growing up in Spartanburg, S.C., a city and county defined by textiles through much of the last century.  The mills governed life of much for all of us.  When I was in elementary school, I went through three different schools.  My sister and I used to take a city bus with school tokens bought by my mama and daddy.  Landing within two blocks from Southside Elementary, we would scurry to class.  Later, we lived closer, about 10 blocks, from this same school and found ourselves walking through the neighborhood to school.  Most of the time, we were separate, as my sister was three grades above me.  Spring was beautiful with blossoms as we, our neighbors, and other kids laughed and played to and from.  Most of the three years there was absolutely a marvel.  Then the day I encountered a bully who pushed me down an embankment and scared him as he thought he hurt me.  No problems as when my big sister caught up with him, well, let’s just say he paid.