Inspired by my fellow 365 writers:
I think the good things that stand out from my childhood is that I knew I was loved no matter what and that it was OK to let loose and be a little crazy even in the midst of a home that tended to swing more to the dysfunctional side of the pendulum. My mom, an incest victim from infancy and suffering from dissociative identity disorder, was able to somehow instill in her children a sense of silliness. As the youngest of four I remember my brother, sister and I dragging our other sister down the steps of our Colonial style house. Davra had Cerebral Palsy and was unable to walk herself. We would put her on the biggest, softest blanket we could find and tried to minimize how many times she would bump her legs and head. Davra, for her part, would just laugh with each bump enjoying the ride. Once down my brother would commence to make pancakes as part of our Saturday morning ritual while mom and dad slept in. One Saturday morning stands out as a favorite memory. Somebody either by accident or on purpose spilled juice (or was it milk) onto the others' food and hence forth a food war began where various substances made their way onto each others plates creating nastier and nastier concoctions. I can't remember if we ended up in"trouble" but for me it was a moment etched in my mind of a silly innocent time and represented family.