I was a whimsical child. In fact, I find that even now I'm prone to my "whimsies" or "flights of fancy," as I prefer to call them now. My childhood best friend, Archie, and I made around 14 different forts in our backyards, front yards, side yards, other neighbor's yards, and beyond. We had a lot of space and we used it all.

Before everyone around us started cutting down their trees, we would use the trees as our fantasy stations. The evergreen in one of our neighbor's backyards served as a rocket ship, the tree with the drooping branches and leaves that touched the ground served as our own personal Grandmother Willow. We were creative.

There were no fences in our backyards, and so there was this big wide space between all the trees. When they started to cut down the trees, the space grew even wider.

While watching some bogus news show, I heard that John Travolta had his own plane and he and his family would fly places and he'd land at their private houses.

My father was a pilot and was very rarely home because of his work schedule. After hearing about how John Travolta got to take his family I figured my dad could do the same. And we had space in our backyard!

I imagined him landing in the backyard after lunchtime and welcoming us aboard as we flew to wherever he needed to go and then wherever we wanted to go. He never did.

I figured John Travolta would, and so I started hoping he would come and we could totally hang out and he'd more than likely take me to DisneyWorld in his plane. But he never showed up either.

But we played in the rocket ship tree and waited.