I climbed up the stairs and headed towards the hallway with the attic. It was one of those ceiling stairs things that you just pull the string to reach the attic.
I pulled the string down and climbed up the stairs. In the attic, everything was covered in dust and nostalgia. I looked around, just to gather up the memories I had.
The rocking horse I fell off on, my football that I had for pee wee, some old Halloween costumes. I pulled out a baby costume and cringed at the memory I had with it. Who would have thought being New Year’s baby at the age of 8 would be alright. Actual cloth diaper for it and everything. It’s a good thing I didn’t use the diaper either.
I looked for the boxes of my old clothes and brought them downstairs. I then decided to include the Halloween costumes too.
It would be impossible to carry these boxes back to my room, but a simple clothing change could fix that.
I went into my room and stripped down to nothing, then put on dad’s clothes. As I walked back to the boxes, I was able to lift the boxes with ease. It was probably due to muscles I gained through age.
I moved the boxes back to my room and changed back into my old self. I unloaded the boxes and set the clothes into piles of what I assumed the age was.
The youngest I could find were possible was my kindergarten uniform. I remembered how stupid it was to wear it, and all the problems I had with it.
Looking at it, I had clothes for when I was five, six, eight, and ten through 16. There probably was some tiny baby clothes in the attic somewhere, but it would be stupid and impossible to wear it. I wouldn’t even be able to get back to my original age.
I stood there, thinking of what age I should try out first. Should I become a kindergartner? Should I just return to dad’s age and go out in public?