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.