Once, when I was younger, I swore I would
never live in a house with bars on the windows. At the time, I found the
idea offensive on several levels — I would be living in a self-created jail,
it screamed of mistrust and fear, and so on.
Things change, of course. I live in
Washington, D.C., a relatively large city that I consider safe, but where
crime does happen. I have bars on the windows and a gate on the door. I
don't think of myself living in a prison, or in fear.
So my ideas have changed; that's what happens
as we get older, I guess. One day I'll look back on the things I do now, and
think and say, and shake my head and laugh. But I don't think you can let
that knowledge stop you from believing and saying what you think.
Despite that, when I saw this scene, the
stuffed animals lined up at the window and the bars outside, it made me a
little sad. My ideas have changed, sure, but it still looks a little
depressing, like a childhood without the total innocence I'd like to believe
should be there.