Early Memories

Early Memories

I was born in a small town in northern California. Population 367 people, including me. It's one of those places that when you try describing it to people you say things like "you know that place, by the freeway with the thing!". Original right? The place I started has little consequence in this story. In fact aside from the formation of my wild and vivid imagination, the only good thing about that place is, well, that almost no one has ever heard of it. I remember it fondly, however. You have to understand that when I was a little boy, northern California was lush and green farm land. In my mind the edge of town was the edge of the world. What lay out beyond the flowing waves of green grass rippling in the wind was endless possibility.


I remember standing at the edge of the school gymnasium, which was the biggest building that I had ever seen in my young life. It was maybe two stories tall. Looking out across the field of neatly cut grass that butted up to several empty fields that stretched as far as I could see. In my mind before me stood this green valley of grass dancing in the wind. I can still feel the sun on my face and hear the faint whisper of the traffic from the freeway running through the middle of this oasis in my ears. I don't remember having a specific thought, I just remember a feeling. Like anything and everything was possible. That there were so many stories waiting to be written. It felt like standing on the edge of the known world just before leaping into the unknown.



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