When I was little, my family lived in Sydney, Australia. We lived in a house right along the harbor shore, directly across from the Sydney Opera House. We used to believe that it was where all the seagulls lived because the building reminded us of a seagull. Our home was our magic castle, atop of a small hill, and the happiest place on earth to us. Our long steep driveway was surrounded by grass, bushes, and flowers by the dozens. My parent's room was at the far end of the house, while mine was next to my brother's. When I looked out one of the many windows in the hallway, I could see directly down into my backyard filled with tall, vibrant yellow sunflowers which we would disassemble in an attempt to make sunflower seeds.
Michael, who is just twelve and a half months younger than I, would do anything I asked of him. We were never apart and often napped together in my tiny twin bed. We loved each other so much, that we even played the same sports and activities. When I decided to start gymnastics, Michael decided he wanted to practice gymnastics, too. And when I signed up for ballet, he too wanted to sign up for ballet. He was heartbroken when he learned that he would be in a different class so he decided not to take ballet classes after all; instead, he would sit in the back everyday and watch me practice. We eventually were able to practice martial arts together.
My brother and I shared many wild escapades as young children. In our own little world, our adventures always seemed, daring, spontaneous, and perilous. We would make the most ordinary circumstance into an adventure that somehow always landed us into heaps of trouble. While we never always saw eye to eye, the one thing we did agree upon was to have fun and cause as much havoc as we possibly could. Our childish antics caused us to be very close, causing my parents to call us "partners in crime".
I remember a time when all we would do is play with our toy cars. These beloved toy cars of ours were red...