Childhood Memory - Or, Why I Love Indoor Sports

Now that I'm moving back into my parent's basement (recap: I'm a 27 year-old college grad with an MBA moving into my parents basement), I've been thinking about the history I've had with that house. We moved in when I was 8, so really all my formative years were spent there. I learned how to doorbell ditch and toilet paper in that house. I learned how to hop fences and put fireworks in the sewer. Really, really important stuff here folks.

But only one memory is crowding out the rest. It's funny because it's not the greatest story and was just a tiny blip on the radar but it keeps coming to the forefront of my mind. So here it is. I'm sure my mom will deny the whole thing.

My brother and I used to sled down the main staircase. With sleds. Sleds.



I know kids like to slide down the stairs, perhaps even using a sleeping bag, but we used top-of-the-line, super-fast sleds. We have 13 carpeted stairs from the upstairs to the main level and boy can you catch some speed on those babies.


Luckily, my mom was at the bottom to catch us before we slammed our heads into the glass table merely inches away. Why didn't we ever think of moving that table?



But here's the kicker - it WAS ALL MY MOM'S IDEA. I swear. If it were up to my brother and me, we would still be using clumsy old sleeping bags. My mom is nothing if not efficient.



I can't remember why we stopped doing it, but it was probably in some horrific accident that I am forcing out of my memory because, well, we were SLEDDING down the stairs. With sleds.



Unfortunately, my parents have since put in hardwood floors so I won't get to show Mike when we move back in. Except the basement stairs are still carpet. And there's 11 of those...