When we were young, we thought the world could give us everything. We weren't afraid of being ourselves and we knew who we were. We stood together because we didn't know there was any other way to stand. We never questioned our motives or our friends. We thought our parents were heroes, and we loved spending Friday nights in the family room, watching TV: Family Ties, The Cosby Show, The Wonder Years. And they were wonder years, for we lived on dreams and the hope they never failed to inspire. We ate our three meals a day and went to bed by nine. The best times of the week were those Saturday night slumber parties or the coed birthday parties, complete with "two minutes in the closet." All fights between friends were forgotten within a week and caused no personal damage. Before bed, our favorite thing to do was listen to Daddy's bedtime stories. School was actually liked at times; after all, grades didn't matter so much and we got naptimes and cookies and reading after lunch and recess. And recess was always things like kickball and capture the flag, where you never had to dress out and it didn't matter how much you might sweat. We used to dress up for book reports and pull props from a paper bag, like in show and tell. We got graded on things like handwriting and art. We had spelling tests every Friday. Our mothers called out the words each Thursday night, while fixing dinner. It was okay to hug our teachers. The notes we passed in class always had a box to check or a secret code. We smiled a lot every day, and only cried over little things that went away in a matter of weeks at the most, because they were either petty or easily resolved or else we didn't understand them yet. We played recreational sports, where fun was never dependent on winning. We never counted calories. The ice cream man could bring a whole neighborhood running. We never got embarrassed when our parents came to tuck us in at night, complete with hugs and kisses. We got our homework done in no time, and spent the afternoons running in the sunshine. We played at each others' houses, unless it was to go to the skating rink or the park, where the swings and merry-go-rounds fit us just right. We told our mothers all our worries, and somehow she could solve them. We never thought we looked bad in a photograph. Freckles were cute. Bad hair days were unheard of. We never worried about getting old too fast. Instead, we wished we could grow up and be like the "big kids." ---------------------------------- Then one day we grew up, and we were the big kids. Suddenly, dreams were left by the roadside and stepped on by those we thought we trusted (and sometimes stepped on those that trusted us). School became something important, where we had to prove ourselves with letters on a piece of light green paper. And money entered into our everyday vocabularies, as we wrestled over matters of allowance. We forgot how to have fun by ourselves or how to party innocently. Our hearts were hurt every day, and the wounds never healed. Our friends changed before our very eyes, and there was nothing we could do. We learned hard lessons about life and love and fear a world not as wonderful as we used to think. Illusions fell. We learned our parents weren't perfect. We said and did things we'd grow to regret. Then we began to wish we could go back to the easier days, where we could be happy without doubting in the sincerity of the feeling. At least we still have each other to lean on. That's one thing that never changes. At least we still like sunshine and movies and can still cry at Christmas. And love still rules our hearts, for the most part.