I don't remember much from when I was little, but I do remember one thing. My first memory is from when I was two or three years old. My mother, sister, grandmother, father and I were on our way home from trading in our car for a truck. Since there were five of us, we couldn't all fit in the cab of the truck, so my dad sat in the bed of the truck, and the rest of us sat up front. During the ride home, at a stop light, I looked back and my father wasn't there. I couldn't figure out where he had gone. A few seconds later I saw his face on the windshield making faces at us. He had crawled up over the top of the truck and onto the windshield.

This memory is important to me because it helps me remember my dad. He died when I was three, so I don't remember very much. This is the only memory I have besides the funeral. I always hear goofy stories from my family, but this is the only real memory I have.

It's strange that I remember this because nobody else in my family does. I don't remember anything else about him, so I guess it's good that I remember something good rather than a memory of when he was having a bad day.

This helps me remember a big part of my life that is missing. Since I will never make another memory about that part of my life, it somewhat fills a little part of a void.

Although I have been told many stories, I like this one best because it's my own, and the real thing will always be true to your heart. c