We Are Young

Source: Uploaded by user via Jenna on Pinterest

Sitting on the mountain, on that already sweltering early May morning, I almost wished I could steal their youth from the air. It felt electric, energized, and I breathed it in as if it might take me back ten years, to where they stood now.

I envied them. I envied the hopefulness and optimism that now coursed through their veins, like a sweet elixir fueling their dreams. I remembered feeling that, too, all those years ago; I remembered the possibilities that seemed just within my grasp; I remembered looking forward to a future in which I would finally call the shots.

But at this particular graduation, I noticed the students experiencing something that I did not remember, something that just wasn’t a part of my high school experience. And for this, I envied them even more.

Fifteen graduates were lined on that stage. Fifteen unique, vivid youths ready to conquer the world. Only fifteen. Not thirty. Not 100. Not 500. Only fifteen.

Their experience was unique, enviable. Lovely. Most of them had grown up together. Thirteen years together. Not rare but still unique in the fact that their class was so small, forever bonded by memories, experiences, and friendships that more closely resembled family.  

My high school years, on the other hand, were neither unique nor enviable. I expect that my experience resembled the experience of many. I was a wall flower, invisible, a lone wolf. I didn’t fit in with a particular clique, so I didn’t fit in at all. I was too different, too weird, too everything.

When I sat waiting to graduate that May evening all of those years ago, I don’t recall feeling particularly sad. I knew I would never miss those high school years of heartache and pain. I knew I wouldn’t miss being lonely, being self-conscious, being an outcast.

But the fifteen who sat on that stage in front of me now, they taught me something new, something valuable and sweet that I’ll hold on to for years to come.

They were sad, sad not only because they grew up together and were going to miss each other but also sad because they were going to miss something infinitely more important, something that was impossible to get back.

Youth.

I’m still young. At twenty-nine, I’m not one of those women who laments about how old I’m getting or worries over the years ticking away. I try to live a youthful life, with laughter, trips to Disney World, fruit roll-up lunches, an over-abundance of cats. You know the usual.

But when I was waiting to graduate, waiting to walk across that stage and into my new life, I wasn’t thinking about what I might be losing, what I would never be able to get back.

These kids were. You could tell it in every word they said, in the tears streaming down their faces. They knew that the days of after-school snacks, of family dinners, of tears in their parents’ arms, of bike rides with the neighbor’s kids, of catching lightning bugs at dusk—those days were coming to a close. This moment, a proud, exciting moment was the beginning of something new, but at the same time, it was the ending of something equally important, something that is precious and fleeting and beautiful.

I tried not to cry with them as the graduation came to a close. I struggled not to grab the hand of my Daddy, who was sitting next to me, and hold it like I did when I was a little girl. But I kind of wish I had.

These kids were incredibly lucky. Lucky to have grown up in the comforting, supportive arms of a very small school. Lucky to have found each other and the friendships they so obviously treasured. But even more than that, they were lucky to be wise enough to realize that saying hello to the future also meant saying goodbye to a pretty darn good past.

Source: Uploaded by user via Ann-Sophy on Pinterest

Once again, I'm with my friends at yeah write. Hope you'll do yourself a favor and click the link below to meet some wonderful writers and friends.

Of Fruit Roll-Ups and My Little Ponies and Not Growing Up

I’m not a grown up. 

I still love fruit roll-ups. I have one everyday at lunch. Sometimes, I have two. If they still made the ones with little cut-outs, I’d eat them by cut-out, smallest to largest…or least favorite shape to favorite shape. I eat a lot of things in such a precise, scientific order. Sweet Tarts? Green to Orange to Blue to Pink and Purple. Pink and purple are my favorite Sweet Tart colors, but despite that, those are not my favorite color colors. See, I’m not a really girly-girl kind of girl. Until it comes to My Little Ponies. 


Growing up, I was the kind of kid who played in the dirt more than with dolls. I wasn’t a big fan of Barbies unless it was for cutting off all their hair and switching up their heads and bodies. I was what you might call a tom boy, but like with any other label or stereotype, I didn’t quite fit in the round hole perfectly.

I was one of those rare little girls who fell in love with horses at an early age. I know. A little girl who loved horses? It’s pretty shocking. My Little Ponies were pretty much a given for me to adore. I watched the cartoons, played with the toys. When I see a My Little Pony at Wal-Mart now, I still have to stop and marvel over its pretty hair and colorfulness. Deep inside, I have a nearly overwhelming urge to buy one, rip it out of its package, and gallop it across my bedroom floor. I do manage to resist. Most of the time. I think they look so different now than they did when I was a child that I can fight the temptation. But…

I’m not a grown up.

When I go to antique or thrift stores and see the My Little Ponies from my childhood, the First Generation Ponies, I cave. I might even seek the suckers out. Of course, partially, this is from a Pony Renaissance that occurred late in my teens. During this Renaissance, I bought up a boocoodle of ponies and sold the suckers on eBay to adult collectors. You didn’t know there was an underground My Little Pony collecting movement? Oh, lemme tell you. 

Via
I probably want this t-shirt. Because it speaks the truth.

There are hundreds of collectors out there. Little girls like myself who grew up but still miss the whimsy and fun of a colorful toy pony with a colorful tail to brush. It’s true. And like collectors of pretty much anything else, these peeps are serious. I once sold a My Little Pony on eBay for over a hundred bucks. Yep, a single pony that I had paid like a dollar for from some unsuspecting thrift store owner. 

During this brief stint dealing ponies, I made over a thousand bucks, and anytime I see a “vintage” pony in a store now, all I want to do is buy it and play with it and then sell it for way too much money. It’s a sad reality, I know. But again…

I’m not a grown up.

I do things like watch Disney movies and sing all the songs at the top of my lungs.

I get ridiculously excited at the prospect of going to a fair and eating my weight in cotton candy, funnel cakes, and corn dogs and riding The Scrambler until I puke.

I buy a new stuffed animal on almost every vacation I make. Particularly if it’s a Disney vacation. And I may or may not sleep with those stuffed animals, along with my cats and my husband.

Speaking of Disney vacations, my husband and I try to go to Disney World every two years. We went there on our honeymoon. We don’t have kids, but we enjoy it just as much as a kid would.

I love visiting zoos. Take me to a zoo, and I’ll skip around like a kid. One of my favorite things to do in this world.
I eat things like potato chips and popcorn for lunch.

I still believe in things like magic and happily ever after. Fairy tales that come true. Villains who are eventually conquered.

Technically, I may be a grown up, but...

I’m really nothing but a big kid at heart. And I like it that way. So I’m gonna stick with eating a fruit roll-up at lunch everyday. To be honest, I think it may be keeping the old age at bay.


What makes you "not a grown up"?