Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

It didn't seem possible. People don't build houses with their bare hands. But I've seen the photographs. I've heard the stories.

In 1981, my parents built a house out of bricks. They put in carpet and painted the walls. My sister and I each had our own room. The basement was always cold and the backyard was fenced in.

Good times, noodle salad.

Endless Love by Diana Ross & Lionel Richie was #2 on the charts.

But nothing lasts forever and these days everyone's pictures are digital. Things can be erased. It could take years, it could take seconds. My black cat was hit by a car in the street across from my house. I didn't find out for two months. My mom knew all along, but she let me think maybe he just ran away and would make his way back one day.

He never came home.

I have summer memories made out of sticks. The songs in our home videos are made out of straw. Somewhere in the basement, I wrote my name on the wall. But someone else lives there now. And everything seems to have floated away.

What was I supposed to do? I loved the Big Bad Wolf, and he loved me.

bereft

I miss something and I can't remember what it is. Or when I saw it last. Or if it remembers me.

Maybe dementia is just around the corner.

I thought I saw my childhood the other day, but it didn't recognize me. The eye contact we made was awkward, and I don't know if we'll ever see each other again.

It was the happiest I've been in a while.

It made me want to call my brother late Sunday night and talk about the good old days. When we sat outside with our shirts off and the music on. We forgot the bad times and how the grass made our backs itch. Mom yelled out the front door that it was time to come in. But the sun was the only one who could ever control us.  

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but somehow a photograph is worth more. It's worth everything in your memory and everything in your pockets.

But we spent it all, Jack. We spent it all.

Please write soon.