In my memoir, An American Childhood, I only ever wanted to define the meaning of life. I wanted everyone to wake up so I could finally prove Thoreau wrong when he said he had never met a man who was wide awake - well, here's a woman who is, me. I wanted to present a collection of images, mental frames of reference that have played a vital role in the formation of modern identity. This allowed me to let you hear my experiences of confusion and wonder and to witness the growth of maturity that resonated in my mind. Those random events and memories from my childhood developed the profound feeling of change. It seems that nothing important was mentioned in my memoirs, but take a closer look. Memory is such a brave little thing: it keeps to itself what hurts us and softens us in the current situation. How far back can he go? And indeed, how do any of us remember anything from when we were younger? Of course, I remembered episodes that were childhood accidents, a scary episode like the monster, a phobia, a reproach for an unforgivable issue of bad manners, dating...