Im propped up on the couch this Sunday evening, in a fashion that would illicit a comment similar in context to "you're like your dad, slouching on this sofa" from mommy dearest. Yes, something about my sofa often tricks me into thinking, boy boy, I dont have a backbone.

as I sit here, with the sombre night skies in view. Even as a few airplanes pass in the distance (You can tell i live in the east) , I reminisce the nights i spent atop a king's size bed as if the world couldnt be bigger. With a tee tied to my head, I was throwing punches and kicks into the air, stopping every 5 minutes to roll across the bed in a haphazard fashion. All this I did with a boy named Frank.

We were mommy's best ninjas. I attribute our alter-egos too 1 too many viewings of Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles. Frequently spotting T-shirts that said" Batman", those were days where eating at burger king would have gotten you Batman iron ons, where a hundred dollars made you feel like you were a rich kiddo, Where my self made paper shoes were amusing and all I cared about were my collection of toys.

For I wouldnt be the Ninja I am today in my own right without Mom nor Dad.
I owe the world to them.
Growing up would have been half the fun without my fellow ninja boy too. Big brother.

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