volunteer hours...and other stuff

My mom's convinced I should document them. all of them. all the way back to seventh grade, when I was doing a dumbed down version of Beta club. I can't remember them.
WHYWHYWHY@#$%*$%#@*%$*#@etcetc

I get that I have to do it for college, but c'mon! My dad's trying to get me to write journal entries about it, so when I send them in (which I wouldn't just to tick them off) to the college app officials,  so they can see my "personality".  I have reason's to back that argument up: a) my personality is awful. the only thing my "volunteer journal" would ensure is that I don't get picked,, and b) If you were  given the choice of writing more or less, which would you choose? My answer: less. obviously.

Moving on......
I recently had an epiphany as to why I have an instinctual fear of authority and adults in general:
When I was about 3 (I think) and my mom had to work, she sent me to this family for the day. I remember they lived in a tiny trailer with a boy and a girl, the girl probably a little younger than me. Brattiest. Kid. Ever. Or maybe that's just because my parents tended to give me what I wanted. Of course, my status on the hierarchy of rights in that trailer was probably, from what I can glean from my memory, at the very bottom. My three-year-old self was completely oblivious to that fact,  though.
One particular incident I can remember. We were playing in their toy room with a doll house. Earlier in the day, I had committed some crimes, and now I can't remember what they were, but I do remember receiving warnings from the girl's large and relatively intimidating mother. When I was trying yank the plastic key from the kid so I could stick it in the little door, and turn it and open it like an adult would, she started crying. It was a bit of a mix between yelling and crying; if you've heard a toddler trying to talk while they're crying really loud, you know what I mean. I suppose because I was older, I was annoyed because I thought I clearly had the authority over her due to my age.
Anyway, the mom barged straight into the door, tore the house out of my hands, picked me up with one arm, dragged me, still in relative shock at the suddenness of her attack, to the their TV room, or the den, I think it's called. There, I was unceremoniously dumped on the floor, and told to lay there until she told me I could get up. If I was bigger and stronger, I would have ditched the place right then, but of course, when you are younger, you are also smaller, and when you are smaller, everything automatically becomes bigger. That why we can look down on our parents and still feel a sense of authority coming from them. So of course, I lay on the floor. for the rest of the afternoon. I think I even took a nap. But that is probably part of my deep rooted fear of adults, and I can still almost feel my stomach drop every time they confront me with a wrong doing.