My Six Year Old
Now, not 5 any more, but 6!
I could run down to my best friend’s house all by myself.
The long three blocks were no match for the Captain America wings attached to my feet. My aerodynamic three and a half foot body knifed the wind with Flash-like speed. It was if I was IV-ed to jumping, laughing, swinging in careless uninhibited omnipotent wildness.
Driveways, curbs and ditches dared, no taunted, me to pop Evel Knievel-like wheelies from my leopard-covered banana seat.
Broken bones, scraped knees, elbow cuts and butt strawberries tattooed the invitation for tomorrow’s adventure. Tomorrow, I said, will be faster or higher or deeper.
Nothing would stop or slow the Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Hellboy, Spiderman, Hulk and Thor energy in me. In fact, if you were to cut me, you wouldn’t see blood. You’d see pure white light rays of power beaming out of every slit and pore of my body. If I opened my mouth, I could blow spears of fire at any body I chose.Curiosity, exploration, adventure, Twinkies and dirt, were all a way of life for me. Sleep was a distant cousin to climbing a little higher, finding tadpoles in the pond, throwing a baseball or wrestling with my brother.
Although I was naive, I didn’t know it. Although puny, I felt indestructible. Part lonely, and part free. Two balls: one fragile and one brass. Man, was I glad to be six years old!
