My mom never read much to me as a child. She didn't like children's stories, she'd say. She'd instead try to read me the newspaper or articles from magazine. Half the time I didn't understand what she was talking about. I just wanted stories of puppies and ogres and stuff that children like.

But there was one book I remember her reading - she had to have read it a lot when I was growing up in order for me to remember it. It went something about "one little two little three little indians" and we used to make it into a song. I don't know if it was from a TV show or cartoon or something, but I remember singing the song and really having a lot of fun with my mother on it.

We moved several times during my growing up. During one move, that I wrote about earlier, we dumped off a lot of stuff that we'd accumulated over the years - including most of my childhood things. I don't really have anything from my chidlhood. My mother wasn't a sentamentalist and used to tell me I didn't need those "worthless mementos". I have an old doll and this weird bookmark that someone, an aunt I think, gave me for one of my birthdays. No cards, no report cards, no letters from my teachers, and no old school work.

I do have a lock of hair that my mom must have cut (or in an initial bout of sentimentality).

I looked up this story and
    One little, two little, three little Indians
    Four little, five little, six little Indians
    Seven little, eight little, nine little Indians
    Ten little Indian boys.

    Ten little, nine little, eight little Indians
    Seven little, six little, five little Indians
    Four little, three little, two little Indians
    One little Indian boy.


Or this longer one:
    Ten little Injuns standin' in a line,
    One toddled home and then there were nine;

    Nine little Injuns swingin' on a gate,
    One tumbled off and then there were eight.

    One little, two little, three little, four little, five little Injun boys,
    Six little, seven little, eight little, nine little, ten little Injun boys.

    Eight little Injuns gayest under heav'n.
    One went to sleep and then there were seven;

    Seven little Injuns cuttin' up their tricks,
    One broke his neck and then there were six.

    Six little Injuns all alive,
    One kicked the bucket and then there were five;

    Five little Injuns on a cellar door,
    One tumbled in and then there were four.

    Four little Injuns up on a spree,
    One got fuddled and then there were three;

    Three little Injuns out on a canoe,
    One tumbled overboard and then there were two.

    Two little Injuns foolin' with a gun,
    One shot t'other and then there was one;

    One little Injun livin' all alone,
    He got married and then there were none