When I was about 2, my parents started building the house in which I grew up and in which they still live. My parents, not a contractor, built it, with the help of an aunt and uncle. We lived in the cellar (basement) for a bit. Yes, I do remember this.

When the upstairs was nearly ready to move into, my father took me to one of the stores in the small, nearby village in which he’d spent his teen and young adult years. We went to Annie Long’s for just about everything. This day, we were picking out wallpaper, and I, all of about three years old, could pick out the wallpaper for the room my younger sister and I would share for most of the next 15 years. I found what I wanted right away.

Yes, this is the actual wallpaper from my childhood bedroom. My parents papered the walls, then my dad build closets, shelves, and bureaus against one wall. Although the room has been redecorated numerous times, the wall remains in the back of the closets, unfaded by sunlight, as bright as the day it was pasted onto the sheet rock.

I knew, even at age three, this was the perfect wallpaper for a child’s room. The doll in the green dress looked like my beloved Suzibelle. And there were letters, those magic symbols that marched across the pages of the storybooks my mother read to us. In later years, I would first try to find all the letters of the alphabet, in order, as I lay awake in bed. And later still, I would try to make words from those letters.

These brightly colored walls eventually gave way to lavender (which turned gray too quickly), then yellow (with zodiac bulletin boards!).  But I still get a thrill whenever I think about my dad taking me to Annie Long’s and letting me pick out what I wanted.