Memory is a funny thing. It's random at best. Mostly we remember fragments, scattered over the years of our lives. When did your life begin? Mine - or at least my first memory - began with a box of crayons.I started out remembering my idyllic middle-class white suburban upbringing, and then, all of a sudden, all the forgotten traumas rose to the surface. Childhood happiness, freedom, and privilege were replaced by murder, divorce, and that true horror; junior high. This is the second edition, which contains twice the pages of the original edition.