My Age (from older blog)
The day before yesterday I was in Whole Foods and happened upon a card that asked,
I thought about it for a couple of seconds before I told my friend that I would be 12 years old. She said that she thinks she is five. I spent that day and many days after that thinking about if 12 was really my age. Yes! I kind of remember being 12. 12 was when I started thinking. Oh gosh, it's true, I was always an analytic type. Thinking, thinking, wondering, imagining. Still, with all that thinking, life amazed me completely.
That growing, maturing thing drove me insane. Oh what will I grow to be? Will I be pretty, smart, liked, rich? I must say that at that time, I was most concerned with being pretty. Hey, I was a girl in America. At that age, I obsessed about the future size of my breast. Would they be like the girls on television or in those magazines my brothers had under their beds? Would they stay all flat and invisible forever? My hair. Would it ever be tame and lay flat one day? When I am old enough to get a relaxer in my hair, will that solve everything and make me beautiful like Vanity or Irene Cara? I was in total awe of those two when I was growing up. Today, I still have that habit to think a thing to death. Sometimes I look forward to sitting in my favorite chair to mentally pick concepts apart. Doesn't much matter how big or small, I will dissect an idea until my head hurts.
Another thing about being 12 that I remember is that no matter how mature I tried to appear, the child in me always prevailed. Giggling over passed gas, hoping I get something fun for x-mas, tripping although I swore I was walking in a straight line, sad because the popular girl decided I was not cool enough. I've seen pictures of myself at 12. Face still round, round, round. Cheeks out to there. Hair a confused mess. That was around the time I started doing my own hair. It quickly turned from a joy, a sign of maturity, to a nightmare!!!! There was nothing more frustrating than trying to do my hair. I was tender-headed,which means that combing out tangles made me cry. I still hate to comb out tangles, but now that I am in control of my own hair destiny, I have no problem letting them stay if they insist.
Sometimes I still feel 12. I rather like it. I am aware of my childlike fascination with most things. If there is a big bright clear moon, know that I am trying to stare at it whenever I can, wondering how in the heck are we here. I still trip over and bump into things. Now though, I don't cry of embarrassment, I just laugh. If someone farts, as long as it doesn't stink too bad, I will giggle. I will secretly shake a x-mas box with my name on it, hoping inside is something fun and wonderful. And though I will never do it in public, I make ridiculous faces in the mirror. I get amazed at the ways a face can distort. And when I am alone at night,,, I am still scared of the boogeyman living in the closet.
I am eternally 12. I host tea parties for girls sometimes and teach a fun magic and self improvement program for middle schools. What joy I get at connecting with those pre-teens. They still have the giggles, they say the silliest things, they are awkward no matter how hard they fight it, and boy oh boy, sometimes I have the best conversations with them. I feel kind of peer-ish (minus the couple bills and grown-up stuff I've got to take care of). I believe they feel that way about me too. Which is all why I am eternally 12. What about you? Think about it and let me know.
"If you didn't know how old you were, how old would you be?"
That growing, maturing thing drove me insane. Oh what will I grow to be? Will I be pretty, smart, liked, rich? I must say that at that time, I was most concerned with being pretty. Hey, I was a girl in America. At that age, I obsessed about the future size of my breast. Would they be like the girls on television or in those magazines my brothers had under their beds? Would they stay all flat and invisible forever? My hair. Would it ever be tame and lay flat one day? When I am old enough to get a relaxer in my hair, will that solve everything and make me beautiful like Vanity or Irene Cara? I was in total awe of those two when I was growing up. Today, I still have that habit to think a thing to death. Sometimes I look forward to sitting in my favorite chair to mentally pick concepts apart. Doesn't much matter how big or small, I will dissect an idea until my head hurts.
Another thing about being 12 that I remember is that no matter how mature I tried to appear, the child in me always prevailed. Giggling over passed gas, hoping I get something fun for x-mas, tripping although I swore I was walking in a straight line, sad because the popular girl decided I was not cool enough. I've seen pictures of myself at 12. Face still round, round, round. Cheeks out to there. Hair a confused mess. That was around the time I started doing my own hair. It quickly turned from a joy, a sign of maturity, to a nightmare!!!! There was nothing more frustrating than trying to do my hair. I was tender-headed,which means that combing out tangles made me cry. I still hate to comb out tangles, but now that I am in control of my own hair destiny, I have no problem letting them stay if they insist.
Sometimes I still feel 12. I rather like it. I am aware of my childlike fascination with most things. If there is a big bright clear moon, know that I am trying to stare at it whenever I can, wondering how in the heck are we here. I still trip over and bump into things. Now though, I don't cry of embarrassment, I just laugh. If someone farts, as long as it doesn't stink too bad, I will giggle. I will secretly shake a x-mas box with my name on it, hoping inside is something fun and wonderful. And though I will never do it in public, I make ridiculous faces in the mirror. I get amazed at the ways a face can distort. And when I am alone at night,,, I am still scared of the boogeyman living in the closet.
I am eternally 12. I host tea parties for girls sometimes and teach a fun magic and self improvement program for middle schools. What joy I get at connecting with those pre-teens. They still have the giggles, they say the silliest things, they are awkward no matter how hard they fight it, and boy oh boy, sometimes I have the best conversations with them. I feel kind of peer-ish (minus the couple bills and grown-up stuff I've got to take care of). I believe they feel that way about me too. Which is all why I am eternally 12. What about you? Think about it and let me know.
This is such a good post and such a great question. An easy out would be to answer this with how old I would want to be...but that isn't the question...or is it? Donniee this might have just ignited the flame inside of me that has seemed to die out (my passion for writing, I mean). I am definitely going to think this over and get back to you!!
ReplyDelete...I had to pick anonymous...but this is from Danielle lol.