You learn a lot about life sitting on a set of stairs. It doesn't even have to be the same set of stairs. In fact, it doesn't even have to be the same time in one's life. The first time I remember sitting on a set of stairs was when I was very young. In fact, this is the earliest part of my life I still can remember.

I was sitting on a red brick set of stairs in front of my home. The bricks were always washed and clean because my mother made them be that way. On both sides of the stairs were black raw iron railings. They were all made to display different designs. My house's railing had musical symbols on them. My house's railings were the best of the neighborhood.

I was sitting on my front stairs waiting for my father to come home to take me to a baseball game. Not just your every day baseball game but a game between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. I loved the Yankees back then because they were the only team I knew. My father arrived when he was supposed to because he never disappointed me. My father was my hero back then. Now to think of it, he still is.

The next set of stairs I remember were old, worn, and wooden. I think they may have been red at one time. Now they were only wooden. Of course my mother made sure they were clean. They were attached to a cottage my parents rented one summer on Lake George in upstate New York. The lake was beautiful and the cottages were all old and filled with people who were simply trying to get away. The only thing I didn't understand was what they were trying to get away from?

I remember sitting on those steps every morning listening to my mother sing while she cleaned the dishes. She didn't know I was there. My mother used to sing with a band during the war years and all I remember is she could make the most beautiful sounds I had ever heard.

I used to wait for my friends on the wooden stairs that were attached to my new house on Long Island, New York. They were made of wood and were always painted white every year in the fall so the winter months wouldn't hurt them. I would wait with baseball glove in hand wishing my friends would hurry up so we could get to the big game.

I used to sit waiting for my girl friend to show up. I knew she was the one and I would dream about how we would get married and have kids and have our own set of stairs. I did this many times waiting for many different girls on that same set of stairs. I even had my first kiss there. I also discovered what a broken heart felt like sitting on a simple set of stairs.

I used to wait for the mail on those stairs. I remember waiting for my grades from high school hoping I would make my parents proud. I remember waiting for the mail to tell me which team I would be playing on in the not-so-little league. But, what I remember the most was waiting for the mail to tell me if I was accepted into my favorite college and thus accepted into being allowed to have a successful life.

I learned a lot about myself on a set of stairs. I learned how to enjoy winning and learn from losing. I learned about love gained and love lost. I learned how to grow old gracefully by accepting the loss of my youth. I learned how to lose friends and gain even more of them. I learned that my daughter wasn't mine to keep and that my wife will be mine forever. Most of all I learned the importance of myself and how remarkably fragile life really is. Sort of like a simple set of stairs.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine