I'm the one on the left, trying to get everyone to look at me. Sally's on the right, drooling and sporting boy hair. Becky, in the middle, is taking it all in stride. She'd already been dethroned three babies ago. When my new little sister came home from the hospital, I noted forlornly, "I used to be the baby, but now I growed up." The adjustment was difficult for me, and no wonder - twenty-something years later I still don't like being nudged out of the center of attention. I just hide it better.
Growing up hasn't grown on me. I still think of myself as a kid, and most days I have no desire for that to change. I don't suppose there's any getting around it - although this poem nearly had me fooled:
When I was One, I had just begun.
When I was Two, I was nearly new.
When I was Three I was hardly me.
When I was Four, I was not much more.
When I was Five, I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
- A. A. Milne
Maybe six is the golden age, the narrow window of opportunity in which, if you set your mind to it, you can stay the same age forever and ever. I missed my chance. No doubt I was so relieved to make it to six (having been informed all my life that five-year-old girls are for eating) that I completely forgot and focused my energies on making it to seven.
Some days I'd just as soon be six, confident in my cleverness. (I'm far more clever now but unblissfully aware that there's a lot more cleverness to be attained.) Or I could be three and my mom could style my hair in looped-up braids to keep me from sticking it in my nose. (Sometimes it's nice having no other option than to do the right thing.) Or I could be ten and when I say the wrong thing people would laugh and think I'm cute instead of getting mad and thinking I'm insensitive.
All that to say, being a grown-up is not all it's cracked up to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment