When did it begin…this fascination with the past? The earliest I can remember experiencing an attraction for days gone by is when I was nine years old and we were on a month long trip to Europe.
Traveling around Europe for a month, you say? At the age of nine? You must have grown up in a privileged family. While I was blessed in many, many ways, I would hasten to add that there were eight of us (four adults, four children) traveling around Europe in a VW Bug for a month. I was stuffed in the cubbyhole in the back.
My older brother, my mom, and grandmother were in the backseat (my dad had to stay home and work, bless him). My uncle and aunt and their two toddlers rode in the front, and then all of the luggage was strapped to the top. Does that give the month long venture new perspective?
Still, to me…it was heaven. And it’s where I trace my roots of my love for history. . .
And yes, that's me at age 9, getting onboard one of those glass bottomed boats in Germany. Heaven help me, I was tilting my head to the side even then...