Sixteen


When I was six years old, my twenty two year old sister told me, “you don’t want to grow up, trust me.” But at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to grow up. I wanted to be tall like her, so I could reach the top shelf where the cookies were hidden. I envied her maturity and composure. 
When I was eight, I wanted to be nine because the girl who lived in the house behind mine boasted about her seniority as she was a year older than me. She received homework twice a week and her parents didn’t scold her for using the word stupid. I wanted homework, I wanted to use the word stupid. 
When I was ten, I wanted to be eleven because ten was the first double digit. Eleven seemed like the real deal. 
When I was twelve, I wanted to be thirteen because thirteen was the age that turned a tween into a teen.
When I was fourteen, I wanted to be fifteen because I hated being the same age as some eighth graders when I was in ninth grade.
When I was fifteen years and 25 days old, for the first time in my life, I wanted to run in reverse. 
All of a sudden I wanted to build snow forts. I wanted to embrace the grass stains on my knees. I wanted to pretend to be a pilgrim in my backyard again, I wanted to learn how to ride a bike again. I wanted to flinch when I heard someone swear and I wanted to cry in my mother’s arms after taking a tumble on the sidewalk and scraping my elbow. I wanted to relive the days I stayed outside running in the sun with my little friends from early morning to dusk, only to trudge inside because of my mother’s calling for us to eat a tuna fish sandwich and drink a glass of milk. After years of desiring nothing more than an acceleration in time, instantly, I wanted nothing more than to backtrack in time. Growing up seemed completely unappetizing. The idea of taking exams, figuring out a career, applying to colleges and becoming educated on how to finance appeared extremely boring compared to the happiness and innocence of childhood.
Sixteen, in my mind, has always had the reputation of the year that puts someone onto the road of becoming an adult. It’s the age that the “what do you want to study?” and “which colleges are you interested in?” and the more informal “get a job, yet?” questions roll in. There’s an immediate and immense pressure to stop and think, to get out of the snow, off the swings, out of your mother’s arms and sit down to start a real life. 
In the moment I felt like I was standing in front of a wall in which at midnight a mysterious hand would grab me and pull me through, crossing me to the other side where I would be thrown into the world of adulthood without the ability to hold onto the other side, my childhood. 

But when I awoke this morning, I felt the same, looked the same. No traces of a wall scraping me apparent on my body or in my mind. No one was halting me from going outside and smiling at the sun instead of sitting down to educate myself on finances. I could continue to live just as before even if I had crossed a metaphorical wall during the night. Therefore, I gathered that sixteen is just another year to continue everything as before. Continuing to adore what you did before as well as exploring more experiences and knowledge with new goals and hopes, but maybe this time with recognition and gratitude for the beauty of what each day and age has to offer. 

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