The City Mouse

I was raised in suburbia America. I had my neighbors. My 1.2 acres of grass lawn, mowed and manicured. Some people may have called that lifestyle the American dream but I believe they were grossly misinformed. I loved where I lived and my family was great but as a 10 year old, the days I lived for were the weekend road trips to the place in the “country”. I will never forget that first step that hit the driveway on the farm of my aunt and uncle. The smell, it was always first, the smell. First trees and air, then grass and animals. I would only linger there a second and my eyes would wonder to the creek behind the house. Thoughts of the rocks I could jump, downed trees I could balance across and special treasures I could find to bring home in a jar to display on my dresser for all my “city” friends to see. Oh how proud I would be. About a five second run from the creek stood the old barn , mostly gray from wear and tear, filled to the brim with cool gadgets, piles of hay for forts, and weird things I’ld never seen before but could imagine their usefulness in a game of spy vs. spy. This was like heaven where I could do and create whatever I wanted and the day would never end. Then it happened. I took my second step away from the car and heard my mom’s loving but stern voice say “Honey, don’t get those shoes dirty, they’re new!”