Memoirs of an Amnesiac

As a child, when distant relatives come to the house to check on us, my parents would often refer to me as the "hard-headed one." I remembered that with the hard skull I had, my father (in a fit of anger) would hit it with any hard things his hands grasps: a spoon, a plastic cup, what-have-you. Miraculously, they never injured any part of my brain, and would disintegrate right before my crying face (the spoon was an exception). I was stubborn and it occurred to me that as much as that ...