memory lane.

I'm so nostalgic.
Get over it.

I was five the first time Reggie punk'd me on April Fool's Day. It was a Saturday morning and it was nice out. The Reg woke me up and told me I had to go outside immediately and look under his truck because a moose was under it.

Reggie, being my hero, my protector, my provider and taking his every word for absolute truth-- I inched out to the garage, terrified. I clearly remember not wanting to step across the thresh hold of the garage onto the driveway pavement. Reg was standing in the doorway of the house encouraging me to go forward, but also to be cautious (Kind of like the rapper Mystikal when he urges everyone to, "Shake it fast," and then immediately advises us to, "watch ourselves." So selfless).

When I finally got in view of Reggie's truck a moose wasn't there, but there was a big ole dog. Our dog. My father had lied to me. It shook me to my core.

Not really. I lied.

Good one, Reg. Good one.