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Dreaming Through Time

We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams.

However, every once in a while a child is born who’s memories and dreams actually do take them forward and back through time. I was one of those children.

Born December 8th, 1972 in Mississauga Ontario, I had a normal childhood. All the normal ups and downs that you would expect from a normal childhood. My parents didn’t divorce, they weren’t drunks, criminals or worse. They loved my sister and I and we loved them.

The day after my 12th birthday it all went to hell.

I had been sitting in my room playing with Space Lego. It was winter in south-western Ontario, the kind of winter that stole your breath when you stepped outside and flash-froze the boogers inside your nose so painfully that you had to rub your face with your mittens. Summertime was the time to easily play outdoors without the winter trappings.

And as I thought of summer, I was there. Not as in a dream, but really there.

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