We all have a favorite place in our childhood. That place where we can hide ourselves from the world and its problems. That place is where we can spend hours and hours enjoying our time and making plans for the future. There we can create our own imaginary friends, who spend the time with us and accompany us on the path of life until we are older and ready to follow it alone. That place should be comfortable for us. It must represent security and protection to make us feel nothing bad can happen there: it should be our refuge. Although my favorite childhood place was a simple stair, how incredible were the moments I spent on it.
The first time I discovered how nice it was spend time on the stairs of my house in Mexico, was because of a childhood fight with my mother. I still remember that fight. Now it may sound funny, but then for me, it was the hardest fight I ever had with my mother. It was when I was only five, and finally the next day I would be six years old. I was excited and I was helping with the preparations for my birthday party. The back yard was staying beautiful. There were ten tables scattered throughout the garden. The tables were covered with white tablecloths and pink ribbons. In the center of each table was a beautiful arrangement of pink and blue roses. Gold and white lights were hanging from trees and walls. The air smelled of roses and freshly cut grass. My mother and I were hanging balloons, and I remember that she would not let me climb the leader to place balloons where she wanted. But when my mom went to look for my father to ask him for help, I saw my chance to show my mom that I could do it. So I took with my little hand a row of balloons, and I began to climb the leader. I had not even reach the third step when the leader ended up falling making a terrible noise. My mom found me crying under the leader.
She was furious and frightened, and after making sure I was okay, my mother scolded me and sent me to my room.