Desribe yourself when you were eight...

(From time to time I'll be using a writing prompt - this is the first)

When I was eight, life was just about perfect. I had my grandparents (whom my dad, older sister and I lived with) and they were WONDERFUL. I remember feeling safe and loved, like nothing bad could ever happen.
My father drank then, going on binges for weeks at times, but I was sheltered as much as possible from it all.

My days were spent outdoors, exploring, playing with my dogs, and riding my pony. I loved being outside. In the evenings we sat around the table and ate the food my grandmother fixed - homemade biscuits were usually a part of evey meal.

My grandparents loved me with a love that can't be explained. They provided for me, watched over me, and made me feel special.

At night I would lie in my bed, in the room I shared with my sister, and drift off to sleep, without a care in the world. My granparents were right down the hall. I thought that safe, perfect world would last forever.