I can remember my fourth grade birthday party like the back of my hand. I was attending a new school with so many new people whom I cared about. I was overflowing with excitement at the prospect of my new friends visiting my house for the first time and for us to be all together in celebration.
But that is not what I mean by remembering. I remember setting up the decorations on the deck in my backyard. I remember the party hats and the shiny “Hhappy Bbirthday” banner on the flower trellis. I remember the fear. I was turning 10 years old, and I was terrified. What if these people did not show up, what if something went wrong, what if they came and decided it was boring? One by one, my friends arrived. In a few hours, they departed after leaving me with gifts and memories and nicknames for each other that my parents still reference from time to time. The fear never left, though.
It is almost ironic how the month and date of my next birthday almost exactly coincide with graduation. It will be a day of celebration, where people I care about come into my home and meet other people I care about. It will be a day of laughter and photos and fancy clothes, and it will be a day of fear and loss. I have always been scared of not belonging anywhere or to anyone. Planted in my head at such a young age is a strangling vine climbing on my tree of life, and I used to think that growing up was defeating the weeds in my garden. Sometimes, I think growing up is understanding that I can never go back to that date before my fourth grade birthday party. I will never have my siblings in the same house like that again. I will never be followed by my childhood dog through the house as I prance in my party clothes. I will never live without that trembling fear. After graduation this May, I will never live with these friends again. I will never walk through the quad and wave at classroom acquaintances, mutual friends that I really want to get to know better.
I used to think growing up was a lot of things. I was so excited for life and dreaded it at the same time. I wanted to stay a child, and I wanted to live a whole life. At times I hold contradictory feelings, and maybe that is what it means to grow up; it is wanting to be with friends and fearing them, leaving people and memories behind, yet keeping pieces of them with you at the same time.
Maybe I will never truly know what it is like to grow up, and that is okay. All I need is a sunny day, people I care about, good food, love, light and laughter. And maybe a dog or two. If that is what growing up means, then I will release my fourth grade self into the sunlight of that spring day. I think she will enjoy it, and I hope she does.