When I was 11 years old, my parents moved to Utah for 3 years, which really did a number on my friend quotient.
This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here, here, here or here.
I don't know of a single kid who doesn't love a good cape. Strapping on a cape makes a kid feel invincible, even if the rest of him is dressed in footsie pajamas.
Well, I don't want to spawn a rash of jealousy, but I had the BEST CAPE EVER when I was little. It was made of some kind of satin material, so it billowed perfectly in the wind. It was wide enough, that I could stretch it out to both sides with plenty of room for it to swirl and swish. And, it was luxuriously long.
I still have nostalgic memories of strapping that thing on and running around the backyard. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear I flew a couple times.
The only problem?
I brought it with me to Utah.
As a result, it became my security blanket when I had no one to play with. I'd spend hours in the back yard, whooshing and twirling, fighting imaginary bad guys ... and I was 11 years old.
Years later, as I type it out, it stings just a little.
Part of me wishes someone had exercised a little tough love and ripped it off my neck. And yet, another part of me is glad they let me have my imagination for as long as I did.
But I still cringe when I think how many adults must have seen me glide and pirouette like a moron.