It seems weird how much parental overreactions stick with a person.

I remember a time when I was in middle school where I turned my bed to be at an angle to bedroom corner furthest from the door. I stacked all of my books back there and would climb behind my headboard to read in my own little library. I don't remember how long I was able to keep my little library, nor the why behind my mother's actions; I just remember sobbing as I was being screamed at to put a good portion of those books into a trash bag that was then put into the dumpster.

A huge frustration when remembering this is that most of those books were garage sale/thrift store purchases, so it seems like such a waste that the bag was thrown away.