I’m glad I grew up when I did, where I did, how I did.

I love that I always had bruises on my knees and dirt on my feet.

I love that I have little scars everywhere because I had one speed and no fear.

I love that my safe haven was a treehouse in the woods.

I love that I pretended—that I was an Indian, Explorer and Professional singer all at once.

I love that Christmas was a time for snowball fights and picking out a tree and sledding outside until your fingers hurt so much that you had to stop.

I love that when my friends came over, we played together. We played Barbies and house and went swimming in ponds and swinging on swings.

I love that I read. Magic Treehouse, American Chillers, Nancy Drew. I would sit in a beanbag and let myself immerse into the stories.

I love that my Mom had to call from the back deck that it was dinner three times before my sister and I would leave the Teepee we were building to come inside.

I love that summer days were spent in the yard playing makeshift baseball games with cousins.

I love that I spent my summer in a camper at campgrounds everywhere, making s'mores, getting lost in the woods, and smelling of campfire and bugspray.

And mostly, I love that I lived in a world that seems so removed from today.

That I was young and carefree.

That I didn’t have a cell phone at age 8 and an Instagram at age 10.

That I didn’t have to play video games to pass the time, because there was a whole world right outside that screen that I liked more.

That I didn’t stay inside hooked up to some music all day, because I could sing as I ran through the grass.

That I was innocent to the world and everything that happened, that I didn’t have to see the bad until I was ready.

That I made my own fun.

I love that I was born in the 90’s.

Must mostly, I’m just glad I got to be one in the most real way: a kid.