If you think that my imagination as an adult is wild, you should have seen me as a kid. Looking back I sometimes think that I was off the charts some. In a good way. Those of you raised on video games might not get this latest incursion of my auto-biographical ink.re.ments strip, but for those that had boxes that transmogrified into forts and spaceships and battleships, then you know where I'm coming from.
One of my childhood friends had this basement that was divided into two rooms right down the middle. The one side was finished and looked to me like the interior of some old ship and the other side, where the laundry room and workbench were looked like the darker levels of a sunken ship. My friend's kitchen was the launching area where we would don out scuba gear, then proceed to the "back of the boat," where we would jump off and into the sea to make out descent into the depths to the interior of that sunken ship. I don't know about my buddy, but when I went down those steps I was there. I could feel the water, see the bubbles leaving my ventilator, see those fish and the sharks off in the hazy distance and feel the danger lurking as we entered that 'ship.' It was awesome. We visited that wreck often.
We innocently called our shared daydream, 'playing Jacques Cousteau.'