I have a hard time recollecting the memories of my childhood, and I would think that the majority of people would feel the same. Most of it seems to be a fuzzy haze, save for one instance that has haunted me for the past fourteen years.
I was four at the time, traveling to Okinawa with my mother to visit an old college friend of hers. While I cannot recall her name, I do remember that she lived in a somewhat rural area near a forest. As my mother was in the process of catching up, I was allowed to explore the wooded landscape to my heart’s content, doing what children do best and searching for little critters under bark and stone.
I distinctly remember coming upon the point where a river cut through the forest, and finding in its path a number of large stones that disrupted the flow of water. Atop their weather-beaten surface sat a darkish green frog with black stripes, calling to me as a siren would sailors. In my childish wisdom, I thought it would be safe to step into the raging torrent of the river to pursue this slimy creature.