Recently in one of my writing classes everyone wrote a photo reflective mini-essay on their childhood. Mine was nothing special, but it certainly made me think.
I am staring down at the photograph of a vibrant young first grade girl, complete with a nifty new dress and curled blonde bangs. The child in the photograph is me. It seems like elementary school picture day was just yesterday, and I was standing in my mother's bathroom complaining about her uncanny ability to burn the side of my head with the curling iron. That morning I finished watching "The Lion King" put in my VCR the night before, and skipped off to school with a very "Hakuna Matata" outlook on life. After all, I was only seven and a half, and my biggest dilemma involved me beating the boys at recess basketball later that afternoon. And messing up those stupid bangs.
I'm really not one for clichés, and I realize I'm going to sound like a grandma when I say this, but the past eleven years have gone by in the blink of an eye. Where have I been? How did time manage to sneak up on me at 10:38 a.m. in my high school library with its very unpleasant reminder that the world goes on with every passing minute, regardless of whether or not you want to freeze yourself in a particular period of your life or savor that sweet moment just a little longer? I feel the presence of time's friend, nostalgia, and have a strange desire to go back to that old playground and engage in another game of elementary school streetball with "the guys." This thought begins to unfold a bit in my mind. What if I actually could do that right now? I remember their hesitancy of letting a girl on the team before I had proven myself... and then this image of me lecturing first grade boys on gender roles and the limitations society places on females arises in my mind, which causes reality to sink in and me to realize that so much has changed since then - people, situations, me - that this simply isn't possible.
I take another glance at that photo, this time taking notice of my bright appearance - of how wide my smile was and how my eyes seemed to have all of the joy and optimism in the world bundled up inside of them. The computer monitor goes to a blank screensaver, and the change that has taken place throughout my life is evident in the reflection staring back at me. My eyes are now heavy from lack of sleep, and little is done for the upkeep of my image. Somewhere along the line I seemed to have sold out, trading fun and my "no worries" policy for adult responsibilities and privileges. I work two jobs to cover expenses such as cell phone bills and car payments. Catch me on a weekday evening and more likely than not I'm cooking dinner rather than playing outside. My Saturdays no longer consist of girly sleepovers with bedtime at 10 p.m., but of unsupervised nights out wherever and for however long and with whomever I choose. I operate in my daily life ever mindful of the consequences of my every action.
And I think I've put my finger on why being a kid is so great. When we're young, although it may seem as though we are confined by our parents' rules and regulations, there will never be a time in our lives when we are more free. We are allowed to believe that any dream is attainable and chase it to our heart's desire. The sky is the limit? Then I'm reaching for the stars. The grand illusion of adulthood turns out to be something that attempts to set limitations for what we can or can't do, and too often do we let it.
Now, it may seem as though this paper has taken a sort of somber or regretful tone to it, but know that is not my intention. I lead a wonderful life with people I love dearly in it, one that I am grateful for with every single breath I take. In fact, one of my favorite exercises is sharing countless laughs with a few close buddies. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I have some amazing things ahead of me. But now, after listening to Randy Pausch's story (read about it here) and reflecting back on my own I've resolved to try to reclaim that youthful zest I seemed to have lost every day when I stumble out of bed at roughly 5:00 in the morning. And, who knows? I might even decide to pick up a curling iron.
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