Magazine article Phi Kappa Phi Forum

Editor's Note

Magazine article Phi Kappa Phi Forum

Editor's Note

Article excerpt

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep," Prospero observes in The Tempest. The Shakespearean protagonist would surely appreciate how three different types of dreams worked magic on my childhood. Some details retain vividness. Others remain fuzzy. Still more I probably have since burnished.

One of my first memories is a sleeping dream depicting my nuclear family. An only child, I was 4 or 5 years old then. In the dream I try to stand in the middle of an empty seesaw. The teeter-totter morphs into the open driver's-side front window of two cars speeding down an empty road in opposite directions, with my mother at one wheel and my father at the other. Each pulls my closest ankle. The sky is sunny yet overcast. As I'm about to fall, I rip in two, grow new halves, and motor off with both grownups, suddenly sitting next to them, as my mind hovers above the scene. In real life, my parents eventually divorced.

A few years later, a middle-aged neighbor of a relative I'd visit on occasion won millions of dollars from the state lottery. I already liked this neighbor because he was a school custodian (I can't recall if elementary, middle, or secondary) and fond of kids. …

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