Week 12: Childhood ME
Although I was an only child, and wished I had a brother or sister, I had a happy childhood with parents and grandparents who loved me. I had cousins and friends to play with. My parents were always taking me somewhere, and I loved being on the go, trying new things and going new places. I've carried that sense of adventure into adulthood. I can't stand being stuck in the house for long.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and think "That's what I look like?! When did I get this old?" Inside I still feel like a kid most of the time. I think part of the reason I worked with young children for so many years is that it gave me an excuse to still act like a kid. I got to go outside, make crafts, and play! Now that I have my own kid, I can keep playing a bit longer. Then again, who's going to stop me?!
I wrote this when I was a teenager, and it is still true today...
** When you're a little kid grownups ask you, "So, what are you going to be when you grow up?" The possibilities are endless. You can say anything, because at that moment you can "be" anything you want - a movie star, a ballerina, a fireman, a baseball player, president. No one holds you to that, to your dream of "being" whatever you say you'll be when you grow up. But when you're an innocent, wide-eyed child full of hope, everyone wants to know what you hope to be.
Suddenly, one day when you're much older, someone asks you "So, what do you do?" People aren't asking you what you want to "be" anymore. They want to know what you "are". You've made your choice. Your destiny is chosen.
But, there's so many things to "be". How can you pick just one? Me, I want to "be" kind. I want to "be" loving. I want to "be" a good friend. I want to "be" a good wife. I want to "be" a good mother. I want to "be" successful. I want to "be" deliriously happy and content. I want to "be" an 82 year old grandma who skydives and drives a Harley to visit her grandkids.
I want to see it all. I want to experience it all. I want to "be" it all. I don't want to grow up.
