Make it up. I give you permission. You have to tell the emotional truth. You can't make-up a tragedy to garner sympathy or brag about your four degrees, but if you don't remember the color of the curtains in your childhood bedroom just close your eyes and whatever color comes to you will be the right one to write down.

Here's an example

1. What I really remember

Faded colored construction paper glued to the bottom of my wagon. Streamers along the side. I see these snapshots in the driveway of my home in Lake Forest Park. Then one more short video: me sitting in the wagon, a hand pulling me along, kind of jerking, and a feeling, giddy and proud.

2. What I don't remember

Did I own a bike? How old was I? Was this the same summer I learned to play Sorry and ran around the school summer camp with my shirt off until Jeanine said something obnoxious about girls not being allowed to have their shirts off and the counselor making us all, boys and girls, put our shirts on? How long a day was summer camp? Did I resent going? Love it?

3. How I might write it.

Fourth of July parades are fun, fun, fun. Especially when you are the little kid that everyone fawns over and takes care of, especially when you are astute enough to know that's going on and enjoy it. I was young enough that I did not own a bike. This was setting me up for severe disappointment in the school summer care everyone decorate their bike and ride it across the playground Fourth of July parade. Then someone had the brilliant idea that I decorate my wagon, and they would pull me. At first, I was a little dubious. My wagon looked ok with the construction paper taped down and the streamers along the side, but it wasn't a bike. I wasn't just upset because it made me feel like a baby but because I'm such a rule abider. It was a bike parade, and I didn't have a bike. I was doing it wrong. But someone must have taken me under their wing. Maybe it was Sandy the older girl up the street who turned into an elf when she babysat. Maybe it was Joe Murphy, the boy with black curly hair, who always seemed to sparkle. Someone convinced me that I looked perfect, that I was, in fact, the star of the show. I remember laughing from my wagon and grabbing the sides as someone pulled me over the ruts in the playground blacktop. I remember feeling so proud and happy. I remember thinking "I made this. I turned this wagon into a float, a magic carpet." I remember thinking "I am creative, magic, special."