I had a fabulous childhood. I’m not apologizing for it, but it does feel a little boastful to say it outloud.

In particular, today I was thinking about the stream out back, behind our suburban house just beyond the three beautiful weeping willow trees.

There was one tree for each of us. Mine, the middle one, had the perfect perch for snuggling up with a book. I’m just sayin’…

So the stream. It wasn’t very wide or deep. We’d take a running start and leap over it as if it was a huge accomplishment (though realized later that it was not). We’d play in it, around it, and best of all, we’d venture into the tunnel that followed the stream under the road and into the woods on the other side of (and I swear, I JUST got why it was named that) Streamwood Drive.

And then the adventure continued. There were miles of trails (really probably 1/4 mile tops) and deep water (2 feet?) and thick trees and vines and sometimes it felt like we’d never find our way back home.

One day, we went really far until the woods opened up and the stream poured unto a giant pool with huge concrete walls. What a discovery!

But we weren’t the first to step foot here. I know this because high up on the concrete was a beautiful spray-painted declaration of true love…

Howie loves Izzy.

I remember thinking, hoping, praying that someone, some day, would love me that much.

And though he’s never done graffiti on my behalf (at least I don’t think he has) I can say that someone does.