We had this awesome playing field between the house and the church. We played football, baseball, and tons of other games and it was huge. We had an upstairs bedroom with tons of room to play. There was a staircase that we used to slide down on pillows and it was huge. We had the best sliding hill ever. There was “Toboggan Hill” that was gently sloping and was great for long rides. There was “Suicide Hill” that was only for the daring and, if the snow was deep enough, you could go through the creek bed to jump up on the far side and it was huge.
And then I went back to my home town. The area between the house and church was tiny. I don’t know how we didn’t break each and every window. The house was little, which meant my bedroom and stairwell was smaller. The hill on the golf course wasn’t quite as imposing as I had remembered it. Maybe more appropriately named “Miniscule Mountain” and “So What Hill.”
Ever have that feeling that everything was WAY bigger back then? Was it WE were smaller and everything looked bigger or were our memories and hopes bigger?