A Wrinkle in My Memory

A Wrinkle in Time Book Cover

There are a lot of memories I have revolving around my time in 5th grade.

  • It was the year that I read my first fantasy novel: The Hero and the Crown by Robin Mckinley. A badass princess coughing up blood after fighting a dragon was awesome.
  • I stayed home the first week of October due to intense allergies. It was the first time I remember that happening.
  • I remember diagramming sentences for the first time and hating it.
  • I have a strong memory of not reading A Wrinkle in Time because everyone else was doing book reports on it.
  • I still have nightmares about being video taped doing a book report and getting sucked into the deep unrelenting void of the camera lens.
  • I remember reading My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George. The boy lost in the woods ripped open a rabbit and stared hungrily at the rabbit’s liver.
  • I stayed inside during recess around valentines day to work on programming a sprite to be a red beating heart using Texas Instruments Logo.
  • I am pretty sure I started reading The Chronicles of Prydain by the end of the year.

As you can see, I have no shortage of memories from that time and in general I think of it as around the time I started holding onto adult memories.

But Then…

It came as a big surprise to me when I was talking to my mother this weekend and she asked me if I was planning on seeing the new ‘A Wrinkle in Time’ movie. We are planning on seeing it but not until after we finish listening to the audio book. According to her, I did read the book and even created a board game for it rather than a written report.

I apparently got an ‘A’ on it.

I remember actively NOT reading the book and the audiobook has so far failed to spark any memories of having read it. I have no reason to doubt my mother but it is a little embarrassing to know I so completely purge that book from my memory.

One comment

  1. That’s funny 😀 You should leave this blog post as a review for the book. Funnily enough, I have some memories from my childhood that my parents remember differently, my grandfather’s death being one of them. I apparently saw his ghost around the time that he died and told my mother he was in the garden with me – impossible since he lived hundreds of miles away in the highlands. Half an hour later, she got the phone call to say that he had died. I remember nothing about that, but I do remember her getting the phone call. It was apparently a damp, dismal day. I remember it being blisteringly hot. Maybe his ghost wiped my memories and replaced them with other ones.

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