It’s impossible to reduce any of it. Every delicious detail will remain in my memory for as long as I can remember anything about that time in my life when the whole world seemed to go inside out and back, leaving me older, wiser, and less vulnerable. We all have a natural resistance to growing up. We are reluctant about surrendering our childhood faiths, the comfort of make-believe, and, most of all, the irresponsibility that comes from knowing that there are always adults loving and caring for us. It’s their job to protect us while we take foolish risks, ignore rules, and challenge fate. When you think about it, what adult wouldn’t trade everything he or she had for an opportunity to be that lackadaisical youth who never thought about illness and age more than momentarily, that youth who lived for birthday parties and sweets, fun-park rides and scary movies, screaming happily at the top of her voice and then curling up at night in her soft, scented bed, vaguely recognizing that her mother was wiping errant strands from her forehead, kissing her cheeks, and wishing her sweet dreams?
