Capillaries, giant arteries, blood flowing — not exactly the imagery you associate with childhood activities. Unless, of course, you grew up in Philadelphia. Then you had at least one field trip to The Franklin Institute. Climbing through a giant replica of a human heart as a child is an experience we take for granted here in the City of Brotherly Love.
And later on in life, your first Eagles game. But first, before you were allowed into the rowdiness that is the football stadium, you were brought to the much more family-friendly atmosphere of the Phillies field. The sticky floors, overpriced hot dogs, and your baseball heroes below made for one of the most memorable days of your youth.
The moment when you have your own home and can officially host a family gathering is one of great pride. Especially to your mom, whose criticism of the overcooked lasagna is really her way of telling you how happy she is for you.
Every first day of Spring, throughout your youth — and well into adulthood — you parked yourself on that line outside of Rita’s for the season’s first Italian Ice. But that first time, when it was just you and your friends eating Italian Ices with sticky hands and red teeth, was the best time.
When you got old enough, you got invited to your parents’/uncle’s/parents’ friends parking lot spot, smelling of stale beer and littered with fresh Wawa hoagies. You were finally allowed into that exclusive club of adults who behave like children at every football game of the season, and that made you very happy.
It was probably the day you got your license because the people working at the PPA can sniff out fresh meat. The sight of that paper ticket tucked into your windshield wiper was a moment of realization — you’d finally made it to the big leagues.
Maybe it was for your 21st birthday, or maybe it was before, but your brother’s best friend’s uncle’s ID did just fine for your first night out in AC. 