Why is it that some childhood memories are wrecked simply by growing up? Places that were so huge as children are nothing more than regular rooms to adult eyes. That's actually the biggest reason I really don't want to return to the town of my own childhood, because I know that my memory will fail me as I view the reality of it all. I don't want that. I like the fantasy of memory. I enjoy walking the mountains in my mind and picking mushrooms and hearing the soft snaps of crunching pine needles in the forest. I don't want to spoil that by whatever the truth is. Let me have my memories intact and unspoiled.
Which brings me to the subject of favorite stories of youth. In much the same way as childhood homes, going back to those old stories do tend to have a very different outcome. Mature minds have different goals and ideals, changed perspectives and hopes, and adult dreams aren't the same as a child's. But, there are a few, a very small number, where the story grows and blooms around you as the adult world sweeps you away. I won't mention my special few stories (though I have a good number that I've collected) because they are special to me for different reasons as to you.
I challenge you all to find memories that improve with time. Memories of parents, grandparents, happy days, and Spring meadows. Tell stories that have aged well, show them to your loved ones, and let those stories pass through the ages as they swell and glow. There's magic in such things. Ask any child ... magic is all around us, if we're willing to find it.
- M
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