Olivia Faulhaber ’21: I will never forget the time that my family and I vacationed in Woodstock VT. We decided to take our bikes to Sugarbush Farms. However, the ride there was BRUTAL. I will never forget the moment that my sister saw the steep heel that we had to summit. She literally started crying. It was so funny to me for some reason. Seeing her face tremble as she biked up the steep hill to the farm was priceless.
Griffin Smith-Nichols ’19: I remember walking through the British Museum as a toddler and thinking that everything in it was fake; it wasn’t until I got to the Rosetta Stone that my mother told me the truth, and my mind was blown.
Ruth Park ’21: If I had to decide, I would say my favorite childhood memory would be one of my earliest ones: preschool recess. Recess was always on the rooftop. I remember how beautiful, how large, being up there felt to toddler Ruth, looking at the intricate collection of tall and skinny buildings that make up Manhattan. The dark aquamarine asphalt, the primary-colored playground, and the bright orange, cylindrical caterpillar cage clearly come to mind. Running around on that rooftop with my classmates—now “childhood friends”—enjoying the cool breeze, peeking at the plump caterpillars in anticipation for their transformations. Riding a scooter, blowing bubbles, playing hopscotch and tag, and sitting at the top of the slide with my two best friends, biting into jelly sandwiches. Life was good, carefree, and joy was simple.
Earl de los Santos ’21: This isn’t a specific memory; it’s a few favorite moments lumped together, really. I always loved sitting down on the rug–the one with the streets and railroad tracks on it–turning on my family’s old Zenith flip dial TV and watching Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. In those moments, I always felt that everything was okay and that the world was made to be explored.
Kyla Brathwaite ’18: Sledding down the middle of my street (we lived at the top of a steep hill) with my mom when I was 6 or 7.
Jeremiah Kim ’19: It doesn’t snow often in Texas. It did once, though, when I was young. We played in the snow out in the backyard; a snowman was built. Then we came inside, and there was hot and creamy mac ‘n’ cheese (with sausages) waiting, steaming — because moms know, man, they just know. I’m lactose intolerant now, so the memory is that much sweeter and more wistful. I miss that milky mac ‘n’ cheese, you better believe it.
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