Treasures Lost
“When I grow up, I wanna be…” is the mantra of children everywhere. It’s amazing how eager we are as young children to grow up and face the world: how in our innocent naïveté we believe life is filled with fun and adventure, and the only thing standing in our way is the silly problem of being “too little.” I find that throughout my childhood, I imagined certain milestones where I believed I would have “more freedom:” when I started school; when I went to live with my grandparents in Germany for six months; when I became a teenager, when I entered high school, when I got my driver’s license…. Along the way, I didn’t realize that with every little bit of freedom gained, I was loosing another precious gem of innocence.
I have a photograph in a frame on my bureau. It was taken when I was four years old. I’m sitting with my dad in Fenway Park, proudly wearing a Red Sox cap, and both of us are smiling at the camera. My hair is still the childish pale blonde, and I’m wearing a Barney t-shirt that proclaims “I Love You!” in purple bubble letters. My dad has a mustache. I can almost picture my mom, short-haired and with no sign of age lines, holding the camera – an old Cannon contraption that was the size of my head – and saying cheerfully, “Und… lächeln!” …German for “and… smile!” I keep the photo where I can see it every day, as a reminder not to dwell on the past.
Twelve years later, I wonder if the setting of that photo ever truly happened. My memories and the current truth simply don’t coincide. I can remember that the couple sitting behind us had a huge bag of peanuts, and I stared at them until they offered me some. Today, the very smell of peanuts gives me a splitting headache. The Cannon camera has long since been replaced by a digital version, my mom’s hair reaches down to her elbows, and mine has gone from pale blonde to reddish-brown. But it’s deeper than that. The scene I see in my mind’s eye seems more like a barely remembered film – I have a cursory knowledge of the characters, but I don’t truly know any of them… including myself.
About a year after that game – my first and only Red Sox game – my brother was born. Two more years later, my dad visited the doctor for a swollen arm and was diagnosed with cancer. Events seem to blur together, clearing up only long enough to examine them as an archaeologist might examine slides. With every step along the way, I lost more and more of the little girl with the Barney shirt, and became more and more of who I am today.
The week before school started, I was babysitting three children, ages one, six, and nine. At around five PM, there was a knock on the door. I went to answer it, holding the baby on my hip, and was met by a well-dressed man carrying a stack of campaign flyers – some politician or another. He looked at the baby, then at the six and nine year olds standing behind me, smiled and asked, “are you Mom?” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. My only thought was, good god, do I really look old enough to have a nine year old? Needless to say he left fairly quickly when it turned out I was only the sixteen-year-old babysitter; unfortunately, he got the wheels turning in my mind. Later, when the kids were whining about having to go to bed, I couldn’t help myself.
“You don’t know how lucky you have it,” I told them. “You have someone who will actually tell you when you have to go to bed. I’m happy if I can go to bed by ten with all the homework I get.”
I saw their eyes widen at the suggestion of such an unearthly hour. “When we have too much homework, Mom lets us do it in the morning!” Sierra, the oldest, exclaimed.
I nodded. “You’re lucky your parents still help you make those decisions. The older you get, the more you’ll have to do on your own. You’ll make mistakes, and you’ll learn – but there’s so much more responsibility. Growing up isn’t fun and games at all.”
I think the idea was too hard for them to grasp at their age – but I’d finally put into words how I felt, and it all made sense. In that photograph from twelve years ago, life was one big adventure. I didn’t even understand baseball, but that didn’t matter – Daddy liked the Red Sox, so I did, too! At sixteen, the world is no longer filled with sunshine and roses. My dad – now an avid Yankees fan – is not exactly a positive parental figure in my life. He hasn’t had a mustache since he lost all his hair to chemo therapy, and he hasn’t had much interest in his daughter, either. Back then, all I wanted was to be sixteen, drive a cool car, and have all the fun I could possibly have. Instead, I’m sixteen, drive an Oldsmobile, and have about six hours of homework on any given day. I could care less about Barney-related merchandise, though I care very much about having good grades. Back then, I wanted to be an Olympic softball player – today I love track and field to the point of obsession.
How could so much change so fast? I think about how I still live and die with the Sox, while my dad loves the Yankees, and I wonder who really changed more. I wanted to be just like my dad – now, I think of him as an example of how I don’t want to be. The greatest irony is that back then all I wanted was to be where I am now, and now I would give almost anything to win back lost time. Many adults joke that teenagers think they know everything, but it’s really not true – I think we’re just trying to come to terms with what we know and believe. At this point in life, our treasure trove of innocence is declining fast, and we’re looking everywhere for ways to compensate.
Yet where would I be if I had remained so naïve forever? The learning experience may be worth the loss. I’ve learned what it means to apply determination and skill to a seemingly impossible task and successfully complete it. I’ve learned that the little things in life are the things that define a good day or a bad one. I’ve learned you should never eat Skittles and Nerds at the same time, and that you really can develop a peanut allergy; I’ve learned that it’s not a good idea to dive head first into the water if you don’t know what’s on the bottom - literally or figuratively. I know that sometimes, it’s not how hard you try, but how well you can relax and “just do it” that really makes a difference. I’ve been in love, been unlucky, and discovered that you really can find someone new. I can’t name a single person crazier than I am, and am infinitely proud of it. But through it all, I still wish that every now and then, I could take the weight of maturity off my shoulders for a while. When we’re younger, we think everything is black and white, and there are only right and wrong decisions - but we learn that every decision has a little bit of good and a little bit of pain.
Life was so much easier when Mommy and Daddy had all the answers, boys still had cooties, and the biggest decision we had to make was who to sit with at the lunch table. If only we had realized back then how lucky we truly were… if we had known how precious our innocence was, we could have made the best of it while it lasted instead of constantly, feverishly wanting to grow up.
I have a photograph in a frame on my bureau. It was taken when I was four years old. I’m sitting with my dad in Fenway Park, proudly wearing a Red Sox cap, and both of us are smiling at the camera. My hair is still the childish pale blonde, and I’m wearing a Barney t-shirt that proclaims “I Love You!” in purple bubble letters. My dad has a mustache. I can almost picture my mom, short-haired and with no sign of age lines, holding the camera – an old Cannon contraption that was the size of my head – and saying cheerfully, “Und… lächeln!” …German for “and… smile!” I keep the photo where I can see it every day, as a reminder not to dwell on the past.
Twelve years later, I wonder if the setting of that photo ever truly happened. My memories and the current truth simply don’t coincide. I can remember that the couple sitting behind us had a huge bag of peanuts, and I stared at them until they offered me some. Today, the very smell of peanuts gives me a splitting headache. The Cannon camera has long since been replaced by a digital version, my mom’s hair reaches down to her elbows, and mine has gone from pale blonde to reddish-brown. But it’s deeper than that. The scene I see in my mind’s eye seems more like a barely remembered film – I have a cursory knowledge of the characters, but I don’t truly know any of them… including myself.
About a year after that game – my first and only Red Sox game – my brother was born. Two more years later, my dad visited the doctor for a swollen arm and was diagnosed with cancer. Events seem to blur together, clearing up only long enough to examine them as an archaeologist might examine slides. With every step along the way, I lost more and more of the little girl with the Barney shirt, and became more and more of who I am today.
The week before school started, I was babysitting three children, ages one, six, and nine. At around five PM, there was a knock on the door. I went to answer it, holding the baby on my hip, and was met by a well-dressed man carrying a stack of campaign flyers – some politician or another. He looked at the baby, then at the six and nine year olds standing behind me, smiled and asked, “are you Mom?” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. My only thought was, good god, do I really look old enough to have a nine year old? Needless to say he left fairly quickly when it turned out I was only the sixteen-year-old babysitter; unfortunately, he got the wheels turning in my mind. Later, when the kids were whining about having to go to bed, I couldn’t help myself.
“You don’t know how lucky you have it,” I told them. “You have someone who will actually tell you when you have to go to bed. I’m happy if I can go to bed by ten with all the homework I get.”
I saw their eyes widen at the suggestion of such an unearthly hour. “When we have too much homework, Mom lets us do it in the morning!” Sierra, the oldest, exclaimed.
I nodded. “You’re lucky your parents still help you make those decisions. The older you get, the more you’ll have to do on your own. You’ll make mistakes, and you’ll learn – but there’s so much more responsibility. Growing up isn’t fun and games at all.”
I think the idea was too hard for them to grasp at their age – but I’d finally put into words how I felt, and it all made sense. In that photograph from twelve years ago, life was one big adventure. I didn’t even understand baseball, but that didn’t matter – Daddy liked the Red Sox, so I did, too! At sixteen, the world is no longer filled with sunshine and roses. My dad – now an avid Yankees fan – is not exactly a positive parental figure in my life. He hasn’t had a mustache since he lost all his hair to chemo therapy, and he hasn’t had much interest in his daughter, either. Back then, all I wanted was to be sixteen, drive a cool car, and have all the fun I could possibly have. Instead, I’m sixteen, drive an Oldsmobile, and have about six hours of homework on any given day. I could care less about Barney-related merchandise, though I care very much about having good grades. Back then, I wanted to be an Olympic softball player – today I love track and field to the point of obsession.
How could so much change so fast? I think about how I still live and die with the Sox, while my dad loves the Yankees, and I wonder who really changed more. I wanted to be just like my dad – now, I think of him as an example of how I don’t want to be. The greatest irony is that back then all I wanted was to be where I am now, and now I would give almost anything to win back lost time. Many adults joke that teenagers think they know everything, but it’s really not true – I think we’re just trying to come to terms with what we know and believe. At this point in life, our treasure trove of innocence is declining fast, and we’re looking everywhere for ways to compensate.
Yet where would I be if I had remained so naïve forever? The learning experience may be worth the loss. I’ve learned what it means to apply determination and skill to a seemingly impossible task and successfully complete it. I’ve learned that the little things in life are the things that define a good day or a bad one. I’ve learned you should never eat Skittles and Nerds at the same time, and that you really can develop a peanut allergy; I’ve learned that it’s not a good idea to dive head first into the water if you don’t know what’s on the bottom - literally or figuratively. I know that sometimes, it’s not how hard you try, but how well you can relax and “just do it” that really makes a difference. I’ve been in love, been unlucky, and discovered that you really can find someone new. I can’t name a single person crazier than I am, and am infinitely proud of it. But through it all, I still wish that every now and then, I could take the weight of maturity off my shoulders for a while. When we’re younger, we think everything is black and white, and there are only right and wrong decisions - but we learn that every decision has a little bit of good and a little bit of pain.
Life was so much easier when Mommy and Daddy had all the answers, boys still had cooties, and the biggest decision we had to make was who to sit with at the lunch table. If only we had realized back then how lucky we truly were… if we had known how precious our innocence was, we could have made the best of it while it lasted instead of constantly, feverishly wanting to grow up.
posted by Anna | 5:46 PM
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