What is it about childhood that never lets you go, even when you're so wrecked it's hard to believe you ever were a child?

Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something to regret. It’s something to aspire to. Little sacrifices. Big sacrifices. A mother works so her son can go to school. A daughter moves home to take care of her sick father.

To know you're going to die, and to be prepared for it at any time. That's better. That way you can actually be more involved in your life while you're living.

So many times I feel I'm using the same words over and over, like a woman wearing the same dress every day. So boring!

My father moved through theys of we, singing each new leaf out of each tree, (and every child was sure that spring danced when she heard my father sing).

Consider the word “time.” We use so many phrases with it. Pass time. Waste time. Kill time. Lose time. In good time. About time. Take your time. Save time. A long time. Right on time. Out of time. Mind the time. Be on time. Spare time. Keep time. Stall for time. There are as many expressions with “time” as there are minutes in a day. But once, there was no word for it at all. Because no one was counting. Then Dor began. And everything changed.

What is it about childhood that never lets you go, even when you're so wrecked it's hard to believe you ever were a child?