Boy I wish I could write like this!


The days of my childhood played out like an endless summer with blue skies and backyard barbeques. The wild and wooly back roads of my suburban home still featured  horse trails and big grassy fields with marshy ponds where frogs croaked. Those days my mind was filled with imagination and wonder for the world around me.

I had deep feelings and when I believed something I really believed it. So when I got it in my mind one Fourth of July that it was Superman’s birthday ( it was obvious to me what other day would it be?) my brother almost fell out of his chair in laughter, he flashed an aggressive smile and then told me in no uncertain terms that Superman, my boyhood idol didn’t exist, that he was a made up product to sell comic books.

This didn’t surprise me. My brother was always teasing me;  I knew Superman was real. He had…

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Got an opinion? Keep it clean. Don't ask open-ended questions, like "Does the Pope belong to a coven?" Make it pertinent.

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