I remember realizing I was claustrophobic...

Another winter day in Alberta, another day my sister and I were kicked outside by Mom to play in the snow. Bundled up in our warmest coats and snow-pants and boots and hats and scarves and mittens, we were exploring the back yard...again. We had explored the yard countless times already, but we had no choice but to explore it again. Mom said.

We noticed that the latest blow of snow had covered over the white picnic table. One of us decided it would be cool to dig a tunnel under the table, and it would be safe because the table couldn't collapse on us like snow could. We began shoveling the snow out by the mitt-full, and soon we had a neat little cave. I began crawling in to explore the space, which would have been fine, but then Pam came in close behind me, wanting to explore, too. As she pushed against me from behind, I realized there was no way out, no quick way out at any rate, and I began to panic. "Get out! Pam, back up, let me out!" She didn't respond, wanting to come in. "Get out NOW!!!" I screamed.

"What is your problem?" she asked as she backed out, injured that I'd yelled at her.

"I didn't like that. I didn't like feeling trapped in there." I answered shortly, embarrassed at my weakness.

Pam spent the rest of the afternoon playing in the cave. I never went in it again. I'm still no good with small, enclosed spaces.