Reading and — I’m sure prior to my ability to do that — being read to.
[Note: I would define the “kid” years as those between infancy and teenage years. So, my obsession with reading was bookended by an obsession with boobies.]
BATMAN!
Be your authentic self.
And stop touching yourself so much.
But the first advice wouldn’t be understood, and the second would be ignored, so I’m not sure that it would be a productive undertaking.
A rock named Steve. It went back to being a rock with no name.
I may be getting older, but I’m not old enough to concede to an “all-time” anything.
Depends upon my age and phase [as in whether I wanted to be a cowboy, a doctor, a race car driver, Batman, or a misanthrope / rapscallion at that particular time.]
Generally speaking, I had the strange (not to mention unproductive) tendency for science to top of the list while mathematics was usually dead last.
I think that would have been “race car driver,” between my “cowboy” and “independently-wealthy-masked-vigilante” phases. (I did NOT know how jobs worked.)
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewst,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live rememb'rd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.
As a kid, my first non-hand me down bike, a bright yellow and blue trimmed BMX bike.
Now the really interesting question is whether there was anything special about this gift, or – rather – it came at the height of the appeal of gifts for me, an appeal that faded into adulthood and is virtually nonexistent in the present day. (no pun intended)
Eight thousand miles
from my childhood home,
I'm pulled into a nostalgic
reverie
by the scent of straw
and cow shit.
This place,
on the other side of the world,
looks nothing like where I
grew up,
but that smell...
Tiger Riding for Beginners 