Childhood Mush

It's not fair. It's not fair. Rinse and Repeat. It's not fair that as children we have the potential to do ANYTHING, but as I grow up, I see that I've grown into a shell of what's considered proper behavior and rules society never has to explain. It's odd that I remember now what's it like to be child, or when I actually knew how to spell. That world was bigger, fuller and mysterious with fairy tales in the dusty corners and adventures that now I'm no longer allowed to have. Has my epiphany come from ties cut as I left for college? Or did it come in the middle of the night, raging like a mad animal thrashing to get loose. I miss being a kid.

I miss trees and climbing them. I miss the way the bark would chip off my shoes and sap would stick to my hands like a terrible gum. The awe of looking up to find the perfect tree as it's branches stretched out in all directions when I prepared my ascent. I miss the coolness of a tree as the summer buzz could not touch the haven it made in the tree. The homemade hammocks where dozens of sheets would sacrifice themselves to be tied on various branches. I would pray that they would hold. Many attempts would fail. And my mother's fury at the result of holes in every bed sheet, even her own.

But now I look up wistfully, wondering why I can't do it again. Am I too afraid that a stranger will laugh at my pathetic frame struggling to get up? Am I afraid to fall? I don't know, maybe one day I'll talk about this again...maybe one day I'll climb again.