by Shannon Stanton

Created on: August 20, 2008

I remember the day I turned eight years old. It was not a particularly special day, and I don't remember feeling any different than I did when I was seven; the entire day doesn't even come to mind. It is one moment that I can still clearly envision. I remember a young me, walking to school with my heavy backpack on, searching the faces for a friend of mine amongst the elementary school children unloading from their respective buses. Finally, she jumps from the bottom step of her yellow bus, messy hair and a stained shirt like usual, and asks me how old I am that day. I begin to nonchalantly tell her I am seven, and stop right then, realizing, no, I am eight now. And this feeling of sadness washes over me for a reason I can't to this day explain. I hated that I couldn't say I was seven anymore. Eight seemed an odd number to be, and I momentarily wished it wasn't yet my birthday.

From that day on, however, all I can remember is wishing I was older. When I was eight, I wished to be ten because than I could ride bigger roller coasters. When I was ten, I wanted to be thirteen, so I could officially be classified as a "teenager" and possibly even wear lip-gloss! When I was thirteen, I wished to be fifteen, to receive my learners permit and finally be able to drive, regardless if my parents were in the car with me or not. Once I was fifteen, I pined for sixteen; sixteen to eighteen and eighteen to twenty one. Each time I reached one of these seemingly amazing mile-stones in my life, I only enjoyed a fraction of it because I spent most of my time wishing I was older.

The day I turned twenty two years old was another weird day for me. Twenty two was nothing special, it just meant, yeah I can still drink; and yeah I am an adult. But it was scary at the same time realizing I was no longer that young person I used to be. I now had to be a responsible, bill-paying, law-abiding, self-aware individual, and this scared the crap out of me. This meant I couldn't make mistakes! This meant I had to know what I was doing with my life, who I was going to marry, how many children I was going to have and where I was going to live. At least it is what I thought; but I didn't feel older in my mind. I still enjoy watching Disney Princess movies when I am sick. I like to play dress up with my five-year-old sister, I enjoy cloud formations, finger painting, fairies and scary stories things I thought a "grown-up" would never enjoy! And I am sure if I were to meet an eight year old little girl for the first time, she would think I was a grown-up, simply because of my age.

Growing up seems to occupy a great deal of time for people. Whether their husband isn't "grown-up" or their young teen acts like a kid, or even if they are like me and feel that they aren't supposed to like kid stuff just because other people their age don't, growing up is a major priority for some people (which is not to be confused with maturing of course). If only I could go back in time and live each year of my life without wishing it away! I still feel like I am thirteen I am still the confused, awkward, dorky, goofy and creative individual I was nine years ago, except I wear makeup and heels and work forty hours a week. I guess that makes me a grown-up?

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