  Bean's memory I did this for my first literary non-fiction assignment. I messed up bigtime, as it was supposed to be dwelling on a specific moment, and I didn't do that.
I didn't even name it. It's just a great big failure, but I had way too much work to do, I was like 3529607205493 pages of reading behind last night so I had to do this earlier today... so... Sporadic Sundays growing up were spent in the great wilderness. My grandparents lived in the rural city of Lakeville; my grandpa and a great number of his neighbors were farmers.
Across the street stood an endless field of corn, which now would have an end. Growing up in the cornless city of Minneapolis, I could only explore uncharted territory on these Sundays of my youth. During the daytime, we would play the country-folk games, because we were visitors  my cousins lived out there. I can remember best the efficient production of authentic country Mud Pies. Take some dirt clods, and mix with water, then add your own personal touch  to taste. Sometimes, when the lawn was justmowed, it would make an excellent vegetarian Mud Pie. For those of us who needed meat in our Mud Pies, we had to hunt for grasshopper.
Across the street in the cornfield, we found a jungle of corny foliage, five times the size of us! It was filled with all kinds of wild beasts  ladybugs, caterpillars, moths, but none so elusive as the wily grasshopper. Nobody would ever eat our pies, except for little Bob, who is maybe six years younger than me, and I am one of the youngest of the family.
He would put anything in his mouth, and I dont think he has changed his ways as I am writing this, fifteen-plus years later. Maybe I fell for it once, and I blocked it out. Nobody wants to admit to eating mud, but everyone has done it. Its a rite of passage, and I would expect the older kids wouldnt let me play with them until I did. Now that I think about it, grass probably doesnt taste so bad, and dirt  hey, its on the non-hydroponics vegetables we eat  but a grasshopper?
I doubt anyone would tell me the truth if I asked today, Of course you ate a grasshopper, Scott! Dont you remember? Who would? Back then (I was under five at the time), all memories are happy. If not, it couldnt be classified as childhood, rather everything after. (Self-pity didnt exist for me until a short while later. ) We took our craft seriously, we prankster chefs for the five-star restaurant in our heads. There were no toys, no balls, and no other fun to be had outside, so we would play as long as we had daylight, stopping only when the pirates came out after sunset.
The Pirates. Up, up in the sky above the corn, three spooky ghost pirate ships set sail. Never fearing the moon, stars or clouds, they just passed through the sky, looking for kids who were out too late. We would run and hide as they made their way from one end of space to the other, and the older kids would tell the younger kids, The pirates are going to get you!
I dont remember who told me the searchlights were pirate ships, or even if I believed them. I just know that back then, the truth was irrelevant, because the fantasy was fun. Maybe once every month or so, my brothers and I would go with my mom to her parents house. We were forced to eat dinner in the basement, accompanied by the boxelder bugs, and we fought an awful lot.
The adults fought just as much, or more, depending on how many Tom and Jerrys or Brandy-7s they drank. At the end of the day, we would drive silently home for a half hour, listening to Dr. Demento on the radio, and generally passing out two thirds of the way there. Anything bad was forgotten because life went on, and we were too busy to dwell, until much, much later. 
