I remember how bright the sun was, how green the grass looked, how there was always the perfect amount of snow on christmas morning.

I know the pain of a scraped knee, sitting on the pavement with tears falling down my cheeks, but always knowing there was a Hello Kitty Band-aid on its way.

I feel my mom’s heartbeat in tandem with my own as I finally fall asleep, safe at last from the creature in my closet.

I remember how I almost forgot to take my shoes off before jumping into the crisp blue water that was always too cold because it was “an unnecessary expense” to heat the pool.

I know how to properly double bounce a five year old boy on the neighbor’s trampoline.

I feel the heat on my face while trying to explain to an angry mother why her son has a sprained ankle.

I remember the cows on the way to soccer practice and how I always said I was going to be a farmer when I grew up.

I know that if your friend gets a caramel apple stuck in his braces, that perhaps Hubba Bubba Bubble Gum isn’t the best way to fix it.

I feel the straw poking into my thin pink and purple Justice leggings, as we sing along to a song I don’t know with strangers I’ll never see again on a hayride.

I remember the voice of Bing Crosby on the radio, telling me how wonderful this time of year was as I stare out the window, watching white flakes gently fall, my cheek pressed against the cold glass

I know how to make a great pumpkin pie (it’s all in the spices).

I feel the ice on my back as I slide down the mountain of snow that the snow plows made on the playground, trying not to crash into my friends as we laugh about being penguins.

I remember the sting on my face and the few seconds of blindness walking back in from recess on the perfect day of running around in the cold.

I know the dread of watching my “very funny” friends tell a very cute Shane about my very secret crush. I know that the best hiding place on the playground is inside the slide.

I feel the tears in my eyes as my dad tries to explain long division to a six year old and I try to explain that “that’s not how we’re supposed to do it.” 

I remember pulling up to the curb at my aunt’s house. There were people scattered on the front lawn, they were crying. I had never seen adults cry before. I remember asking myself how could the sun be shining so bright if it knew they were crying like that.

I know the smell right after it rained, my soaked socks and  the puddles that could not go un-splashed.

I feel the rush of being the Martian from outer space in the middle of the gym, only allowing people wearing my favorite color to get a free pass to the other side. The others better start running.

I remember sitting in the ski lounge and finding it absurd that my uncle who worked at the ski resort didn’t have any milk in his office to go with my hot cocoa. I drank chocolate water that day.

I know the thrill of being pushed in a race car shopping cart, zooming down the vegetable aisle, racing the cereal boxes.

I feel my heart pounding as I step onto a stage for the first time, lights beaming down at me in a white tutu.

I remember how the water used to race down the window when it rained, and no matter what, the one I always bet on would win.

I know that my dad’s big Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt was the best thing to curl up in the middle of the living room with. It covered my ankles almost perfectly if my knees were tucked up high enough.

I feel the wet grass stick to my wet feet when racing from plate to plate in the homemade baseball field in the back yards. I was always too fast for my teenage cousins, they always seemed to just miss me.

I remember walking by the river on a hot summer day. The smell of fish will always be weirdly nostalgic.

I know the sound of my sister’s laugh while I push her off the bed once again, taking the pillows and blankets with her.

I feel the world around me changing, the sky’s are greyer, and my heart is older. I feel pain, joy, love, sorrow, greif, rage.

I remember those years, those photographs, that other life time. Gone so fast, I grew up.