The Glass Castle - 02/18/2007

If you ever feel like, "boy howdy, my life stinks!" pick yourself up a copy of "The Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls. No, your life does not stink.

This book is a memoir by Ms. Walls about her life growing up. She's not "getting back" at her parents; she's not seeking revenge. She's telling you her life story through her eyes at the time the events happened. When things happened at age 3, she's writing as if her brain were 3. When she's 7, her writing is 7, etc. There's no hate there, no bitterness. There is a life of being exciting and adventurous. I shake my head and cringe as I read this book. How anyone could live this way shocks me. Mr. Walls is OK now with it. I think this memoir was cathartic for her. I still have 118 pages or so to go (my library copy is 288 pages long). I am curious about her dedication page. She directly thanks 2 siblings that lived this life with her, and the youngest sibling, she says she will always love. I wonder if the youngest sibling did not approve of this memoir. I wonder if the youngest saw things differently. I know I think about my upbringing and it is slightly different from my older sister's and the same goes for my younger sister. We all live in the same circumstances but we live events and life differently. It's weird and mind-boggling to me.

Know what else boggles my mind? I can't remember my childhood. Ms. Walls writes about doing things at age 3, at age 5. I can't. My earliest memories are of 5th grade. How old was I? Ten? Those are my earliest memories. I cannot remember anything else before, except bits and pieces. Flashes. Mom hanging laundry on a line in Puerto Rico. A tree falling on a VW Bug during Hurricane David in PR. Making a floral arrangement with my Aunt Carmen as a class project on a weekend, only to go get it out of my Aunt's fridge on Monday and having it be all wilted. Major life events, I can't remember. I don't remember mom bringing my sister home from the hospital when I was 5. And even from age 10 forward, I have swiss-cheese memory. I can't remember any elementary school teachers' names. Or faces. My husband can recite them all. I can recite all my son's teachers. I can remember some Junior high teachers' faces, but no names. The only high school teachers I remember were those really special ones; Mr. Cavagnaro, Mrs. Shannon, Mrs Greene, the English teacher who made it "click for me" Mrs Hersch. Four teachers in 4 years? I look at my high school year book to remember people I went to school with. My best friend will call and say "Guess who I saw today? Mary so and so." I have no idea who she is talking about.

College? Please. I took so many courses I can't remember half of them, let alone the professors' names. It bothers me that I can't remember things. Names? Man, I stink. In order to remember your name, I must repeat it to myself over & over and them use a mental word association game to really get it right. Just ask my neighbor Amber, who I called Amanda (because I *though* she said "Amanda" and Amanda was a name of a girl my husband knew/dated/whatever. That's how I remember things. Now when I look at my neighbor, I think "Amber-like Vicky's friend Amber" I think of my sister's friend who shares the same name, to remind me of her name. Swiss Cheese Memory. Holes in there.

Back to the book, I will see if there is any hint as to why her youngest sibling is mentioned that way in the dedication page. I want to know if they still talk.