The excitement began the minute she passed out the permission slips. Holding it in my hand, I knew that just the looping of my mother’s “I” into the ending “s” of our last name, would be the ticket releasing me from desk to bus to destination. I placed it in my pocket carefully like Willy Wonka gold, and it sizzled there until my mom returned from work. Even though the trip was a week away, I could smell the freedom fumes of the bus with each letter she wrote.

My mom liked a big box calendar. She could easily write and read appointments. For me, each date was the space for a large “X”, counting down the days until the field trip. Each morning my eyes darted from behind cereal box to the calendar, willing time to go faster.

The day of the field trip, it was only a moment between the bus ride of “I wonder what it will be,” to the return trip of “wasn’t that something!” In the familiar of our Washington Elementary desks, we spoke of it for days. And it made all that sameness brand new. Pencils and paper buzzed with energy. Had they always felt this way?

We returned home yesterday from our trip to the handmade palace. Our conversation continues. The marvel remains. “What this one man did!” “What can I do?” The taste of toast and jam. The strong sips of coffee brewed. Was breakfast always this special?

I’m handing it to you now. Passing it back to your desk. This slip of freedom. The letters have been looped. The bus is running by the curb. Take it. Give yourself the permission. Go on a field trip. See something around you. Live! Because what you willed from behind cereal boxes is all coming true — it’s going so fast! Go see something! Go be something! Even for just a moment. The fumes of freedom are wafting.

May your heart be well traveled.