I don't understand why my mind seems to recall so many instances from my youth, but a lot of my imagination developed during that time. In part to escape how we were raised by an overbearing father and in part because my sister and I grew up in the time when "kids were to be seen, not heard." Understand, this was also before cable networks took over television broadcasting. We had three stations, one of which might come in clear enough to watch if the wind blew properly.
So television had little hold or control over us. My sister and I spent countless hours playing with Fischer-Price Little People. We created, for us, what we believed the perfect family life should be. It was our little place to dream our dreams without outside interference telling us we couldn't. We had a lot of great adventures together that time has not erased.
Lately, I keep having dreams of my old homestead where my sister and I were raised. The dreams are pleasant, as are a lot of my memories. Unless a time machine is ever invented, we cannot travel back to our past physically, but mentally, we can. Not all memories are great, but I've learned to take the bad and apply those lessons to my life. I believe I'm a better person for the experiences I've had.
I believe I've always been destined to be a writer because I've always tried to figure out why people do bad things to others. Whenever someone deliberately did me wrong, I'd review the situation over and over in my mind, trying to figure out why they did what they did. It never gave me a direct answer, but it developed my craft of seeing how others might think. And perhaps this is why I am able to get into the minds of the characters in my books.