I don't remember when I started to remember myself, but I know I can't gather the first early years. I cannot remember how or when I first met my mother, or the first time I cried out of discomfort. My earliest memory would be a puppy. I ran after it in small a yard. He would tug at my dolls as if they were his, and I would cry when the they'd come apart at the seams out of my own resistance. I've recently come to find out that my father wanted a son. My mother jokes about his attempts at channeling that awkward disappointment, by dressing me up in Jerseys and Baseball caps. I don't believe she understands this or maybe she thinks I couldn't but, I could feel them both.