I leapt into the air with such vigor my hair nearly touched the ceiling.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "That’s not so impressive in an eight-foot-high dining room."

And normally, you'd be right—except I was five at the time.

Now you're probably wondering: "How does a five-year-old boy jump so high?"

To that I say, thank you—and I was quite large for my age.

But it wasn’t just my size that launched me into the air on that cool November evening.

It was something else.

Something far more powerful.

News.

News that would change my life forever.

News that could send any boy—yes, even one smaller than me—soaring up to the ceiling.

My mother was having triplets.

Of course, my celebration didn’t end with a single—however magical—jump.

No, it lasted deep into the night with all kinds of screaming and running.

It was as if I’d eaten candy; the news, like sugar, pulsed through my body.

I was wired.

Putting me to bed that night was a nightmare, or so I’m told.

The memory of that night, remains imprinted in my head, a constant reminder of the naivety of my childhood, of the excitement I once had for something that would soon ruin my life.

One of the greatest desires of any child, and adults too, is to feel important. However, as I watched as three babies entered into my house, each one being cradled by separate adults I did some quick basic math.

Two parents, means four eyes.

The triplets take up three.

My younger brother takes up one.

I am left with ... zero.

I was raised by time.

Taught to swim by the water.

Air was my best friend—one of the few things that noticed me.

The ground taught me to run, and so I did.

I became famous.

My feet, wings, flew me away.

I won races. Became an Olympian. Made money.

But my friend is still the same,

and my parents still don't see me.

I want to go home. To them. To my family. But it is much to difficult. Memories of the past act a physical barrier, a rushing river, that I am too afraid to cross. But cross it I must, for I am much too lonely and heavily yearn for their connection.

And that is why I am here. Speaking to the door that was once shut in my face. Shut by whom, you may ask, well it was I of course. My parents would not have noticed me enough to kick me out, and so, I chose to do it for them.

The door remains still, and so do I. Twenty minutes pass. Thirty minutes. I knock.

Slowly the inside of the house is revealed.

Light comes rushing in through the expanding crack escaping into night's dark arms.

"Oh," the almost silent word escapes my mother's mouth, reverberating in my ears.

"Hi," I respond, my voice equally as quiet.

She stares at me.

I stare back.

Her dark brown hair, sits softly on he shoulders.

Lighter, thinner then I remember.

"Is it okay if I ..." I nod towards the den. "Come in to talk."

More silence.

She is looking at my leg. I never told her about my injury.

A white cast engulfs my right calve.

"Can you run?"

"No. Never again."

She grabs my arm and pulls me into the home. My home.

"I'm sorry," we both say in unison.