I Wish I Was

Mama Kat asks, “When do you first imagine yourself wishing you were older or bigger?” for Writers’ Workshop this week.

Pondering this question made me chuckle a little because some of my first memories, maybe 3 or 4 years old, are of me wishing I was old enough to do this or that. 

Being an only child I was quite a handful, always asserting my independence and wishing all that parent attention would be paid elsewhere.  In addition, a lot of my friends were 2-3 years older  so there was always that need to be like them  whether it was walking to a friend’s house by myself, riding a two-wheeler, staying home alone, parties, dating, driving, or drinking.

Often, this desire to age quickly caused rifts between me and my parents, especially my dad.  He wanted his little girl to stay little for a little longer and that made me just want to roll my eyes.  Of course, that always went over well.

Now, as a 36 year old, I would give anything to go back to that period of time where I wished to be older and tell myself to just enjoy being young.  The amount of time spent worrying about being older could have been spent just having fun as a little kid.  These days, I spend a lot of time wishing I was younger.  It’s funny how the pendulum swings isn’t it?