"All children, except one, grow up."
I lament that I am not the one.
Years ago I made houses in the snow and gleefully tried to catch snowflakes on my tongue. Now I think about what to wear to stay warm and how I need to start my car early to get to work on time.
I remember a time when Here was everything--my family, my school, my friends, all were sewn into the soil of Whitefish, Montana. Now I visit family across the country, have friends across the world, and--oh so dauntingly--it is up to none but me to figure out what to do with my time. I was so happy as a kid. And growing up take so much work.
But there's something to be said for it, too. There's something in the satisfaction of being able to drink wine, buy anything with the click of a mouse, choose what to do with your life. Anything at all. And to know about life and the wide world--all its glories, all of its dirty secrets. Grown-up love and grown-up hate.
Peter Pan would be disappointed with that speech. But Peter, I've done my time and I've made the most of it. And there are hundreds of thousands of new kids to take my place--kids with fresh smiles, with backs that don't get thrown out while snow-shoveling, with soft corners and dazzling imaginations.
Besides, the new ones are much funnier than I ever was. At daycare we were listening to "Glo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oria! In excelsis Deo..." on Christmas radio, and one of my modest four-year-old boys declared, "This song makes me want to marry a girl!" He subsequently turned beet-red. But see, you just can't appreciate that kind of comedy unless you see it from up here. And messy as grown-up life turns out to be, it's an "awfully great adventure," after all.
It's a week and a day late, but I am thankful that time is a tidal wave.
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