Doors are surprisingly memorable.

When I was a kid, we used to play doorbell ditch.
One day, before I could ring Aaron's doorbell,
his father opened the door and yanked me into the house
and then closed the door. I thought he was going to destroy me.

My parents had a sliding-glass door that opened onto the backyard.
We could leave the front door of the house open
as long as the screen door was shut.

My brother was chasing me with a broom, once,
and shoved it through my bedroom door
to try and gouge me on the other side.

At Halloween, we went door-to-door in our costumes
collecting treats. When I was a little older, I had to go door-to-door
to collect money for delivering the newspaper.

The doors were different in other places.

My mother-in-law hung a bead curtain from the door
of her countryside house.

In China, we used to go to many temples.
There was usually a wall on the other side
of a door at a temple entrance. It wasn't a door, really,
but something to block evil spirits.

In Japan, Angela told me to step over a beam of wood
when we walked through the entrance,
but a lot of people didn't.

One time, when I had returned from a long vacation,
I could not open my door. I had to wait
three hours for the locksmith to drill a hole in the lock.