Forget Growing Up
I miss my daddy telling me a new fairy tale every night, always about Princess Rachel and her adventures with her pet tiger or Prince Charming or whatever.
I miss nap time.
I miss playing with my stuffed animals.
I miss the little checklist I kept in my nightstand with a tally of how many nights I had slept with each stuffed animal, so I wouldn't hurt the feelings of any of them by showing favoritism.
I miss reading Laura Ingalls Wilder books under the covers with a flashlight.
I miss going to the library every week to check out as many new books as I could carry.
I miss dancing freely in the living room to the 1812 Overture, stomping on the ground with all my might when the cannon part came.
I miss playing soccer and speedball in the backyard with my brother.
I miss playing dress-up.
Today, I miss my childhood.