The time the grass WAS greener on the other side
We lived by a lake, but rivers fascinated me when I was little. Actually bridges fascinated me. But they didn't make bridges over lakes.
Every day my dad drove me to daycare in a town 10 minutes away, the same town where he worked. And every day when he picked me up, we drove past a golf course. And every day that we drove past that golf course, I spotted a little bridge that went across a little river. And every time I saw that bridge, I asked my dad if I could cross it. I begged, actually, and clearly did not understand the concept of what a golf course was or that the people walking around with clubs and carts might be a tad bit annoyed if a 4 year old girl came running on to the course just to cross a small wooden bridge. Every time I asked, he told me, "No" until one day, when he pulled over on the road and said, "Ok, go quick." It was maybe the greatest moment of my life up until that point. I unbuckled from my booster seat and sprinted as fast as my little legs could carry me across the manicured lawn. I got to the bridge, stopped, and walked across it slowly as if to saver the experience like a chocolate kiss. Three small steps later, I was on the grass on the other side of the bridge. Fortunately, I was much less cynical back then, less able to be disappointed. I was completely satisfied. I threw my hands in the air and ran back to our van as fast as I had come. I got back in the car. "Thanks, Dad!" I buckled up again. And we headed home. I don't think I asked to stop at the bridge any more after that. I had conquered it, and it was everything I had imagined.
This story is sort of anti-climatic, but surprisingly, experience was not.
Every day my dad drove me to daycare in a town 10 minutes away, the same town where he worked. And every day when he picked me up, we drove past a golf course. And every day that we drove past that golf course, I spotted a little bridge that went across a little river. And every time I saw that bridge, I asked my dad if I could cross it. I begged, actually, and clearly did not understand the concept of what a golf course was or that the people walking around with clubs and carts might be a tad bit annoyed if a 4 year old girl came running on to the course just to cross a small wooden bridge. Every time I asked, he told me, "No" until one day, when he pulled over on the road and said, "Ok, go quick." It was maybe the greatest moment of my life up until that point. I unbuckled from my booster seat and sprinted as fast as my little legs could carry me across the manicured lawn. I got to the bridge, stopped, and walked across it slowly as if to saver the experience like a chocolate kiss. Three small steps later, I was on the grass on the other side of the bridge. Fortunately, I was much less cynical back then, less able to be disappointed. I was completely satisfied. I threw my hands in the air and ran back to our van as fast as I had come. I got back in the car. "Thanks, Dad!" I buckled up again. And we headed home. I don't think I asked to stop at the bridge any more after that. I had conquered it, and it was everything I had imagined.
This story is sort of anti-climatic, but surprisingly, experience was not.
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