Friday, June 1, 2018

Is It Worth Growing Up?

I slipped half consciously into her pale teal and purple room. She was laying beautifully in her bed. I felt prompted to ask her about how she felt about growing up. She stared at me. She is 10 years old as of last month. We chatted about what the next few years has in store for her. As I was talking, her little chin started quivering.
"Oh, no. does this scare you?" I asked.
She nodded that little tween head and couldn't speak...afraid if she did, tears would surely come. She was desperately trying not to cry.
My heart was aching.
I told her my story about how I didn't want to grow up either. I felt the same way. I wished God had made me a boy because then I wouldn't have to deal with all of the unfair girl stuff.
Her chin continued to quiver.
Her dad walked in at that moment.
"What's wrong babe?"
She could no longer contain the tears.
"I don't want to grow up," she feebly replied.
He hugged her. Again and again.
I wiped her tears and spoke.
"Hey, I know it's not fun...but guess what? It's all worth it. Do you know why?"
"Why?" she whispered as she continued to wipe those innocent tears.
"Because one day, you will be sitting on a bed with your own little Ne Ne. And you're going to realize that you wouldn't give up that moment for anything in the world."
She smiled.
We went to bed.
The next day, I was busy sending some random text message to some random person. It was so important I can't even remember what it was. But she kept holding up her pinky finger wanting me to promise something.
"Just a minute, just a minute," I hastily replied.
I finally turned to her and asked what was so important.
She stuck her pinky in my face and told me that I had to pinky promise her something.
"It depends," I answered with a half smile.
"Promise me that growing up is worth it?"
I looked around. I laughed out loud.
I pointed her to one corner of the kitchen where the baby was licking a melted popsicle off the table. In another corner a toddler boy was having a tantrum. A thirteen year old boy was bored and asking what we were going to do for the rest of the day. A fifteen year old boy was cooking ramen in the dirty kitchen.
I held up my pinky finger and locked it with hers.
“Absolutely," I assured her.
"Life doesn't get any better than this!"
I pulled her matted, blonde head into my chest and kissed it. Over and over again.
"Absolutely."

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