I can still recall the first time I felt history come alive. It was a day like any other, on my way home from school. I passed a huge rock. I've seen it many times before, but this time I took time to pause and take a closer look.
That large rock was - and still is as far as I know - a glacial erratic, but I didn't know that at the time I stod in front of it, touching it's rough surface. An adult I knew as a friend of my father saw me standing there in front of the rock. He approached me and asked me if I knew what kind of rock I was looking at. I replied that I had no idea, other than that it looked like any other rock, except for its impressive size.
He then started telling my a long story, stretching back 10.000 years. He told some white lies, of course, but the gist of it was that the rock had travelled over the continent to settle right where it stod that day, and still stands today.
He must have been a great storyteller, since I still recall what he told me decades later. He didn't just tell a story, he told a history using very vivid colors. His tale of a glacial erratic sparked my curiosity to learn more about the past around me, and I am forever grateful that he pushed me into the past worlds.