I have a confession to make: I’m not normal. (That ought to put my mom on the floor laughing.)

Seriously, I think that’s how you get to be an author – complete severance from reality at will. Most of the authors I know are the kid you remember from school that seemed to glaze over in class and then was snickering during the middle of the hour while the teacher was talking. “What’s so funny, Mr. Courtemanche?”

“Well, I was just thinking about what Winston Churchill might say if he was trapped in a sinking crab boat with Sig in the Bering Strait.”

Yup, just too far from reality to even connect on 99% of the reader’s radar sets. That’s an author. Where was I?

Oh, yeah. I had a belief as a child (up until I was 28) that if I pursued it hard enough, concentrated enough, believed enough, that I should be able to fly like Superman. Didn’t Yogi’s levitate? Didn’t Uri Geller bend spoons with his mind? Why shouldn’t I be able to fly?

I finally figured out that I was not going to make it happen. But this morning I was sitting on the back steps with the Barkerson family and I realized that I’m not the only family member who wishes they could fly. My girl Stormy was standing in the middle of the yard and as the birds flew over her head she would leap up on all fours, just like Superdog. If willpower could make it happen, she’d be orbiting the neighborhood killing birds. She hates birds. Robins, Sparrows, Jays, Cardinals, and Pigeons. Especially Pigeons. If she had thumbs she’d be racking back the bolt on an M2 right about now and spraying the neighbor’s rooftop in a valiant attempt to slaughter every last one of the flying rats.

So, we got that much in common. Every day she amazes me with more and more of her silly side coming out. The dark past is still there but it’s receding. What a blessing. She’s happy. And that makes me happy as well.

What childhood fantasy most captured your imagination? What did you do to try and realize it? Do you still pursue those flights of fancy?

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