When we try to fix something, we latch onto this memory of a time when it wasn't broken, when it didn't need to be fixed- but what is a memory really but a far-fetched, distant moment? Something that happened so long ago we can no longer really recall it. We recall bits and pieces; it becomes part truth an part fiction. Sometimes the things we fix were never really perfect to begin with. Sometimes what really needs to be fixed is this idea that at one point, long ago, in some far off strange land we call our childhood, things were perfect.