My father could create an entire world out of a Cardboard box and an old sheet.

He taught us how to sail the wide oceans on a mattress, and how to camp within the wilderness of our living room.

Sometimes, his never ending inventiveness would make my Mom wince, like the time he taught us to bumpety bump down the stairs, face first.

Or the time he taught us how to leap from the steps onto a mattress (no broken limbs, either! Not that time anyways. Mell did break her hand once, running UP the stairs, because, well, that's how just how we roll.)

There was also the time my Mom went out of town for a Sorority Convention and my Dad threw a "Get Down and Dirty" party for the neighbourhood kids.

Our backyard was transformed into an obstacle course that contained a wading pool filled with flour and water, a popcorn and syrup throwing station, weirdly coloured goo and a prize bobbing station that used whipped cream instead water (the prize was a rubber snake, a fact I didn't appreciate at the time).

My mother returned home from her weekend to find the backyard trampled, mutli-hued and sprinkled with bits of popcorn and whip cream.

Along with the lawn, we lost the wading pool and hunks of our hair. It was totally worth it.

Today, when I look at limitations, I remember the lessons my Dad taught me. There is a whole world sitting outside the box that only needs to be thought of, and it is as big and wild as you let it be.