Remember This

As a child, I wanted to be an adult. As an adult, I want to remember my childhood spirit.

Remember This
Photo by Angelina Litvin / Unsplash

Standing in my parent’s laundry room, I was writing as fast as I could. I was 11 years old and mad as hell.

My parents had guests over and they had peppered me with questions I didn’t want to answer. Boring questions. Questions they probably hated being asked as a kid. 

Who’s your favorite teacher?

What’s your favorite subject in school?

What do you want to be when you get older?

I was outraged.

Hadn’t these people been kids once? How could they not remember what it was like to be a kid, to be asked stupid questions? It’s not as if they were interested in the answers - or even really knowing anything about me. Every grownup was asking the same questions over and over again. 


So I escaped to the laundry room. There I found a little spiral notebook and a black pen. Writing furiously, I made a list of all the things I wanted to remember as an adult.  All the questions I wanted to remember to ask kids when I became an adult.  All things about being a kid that I’d want to remember as an adult so as not to come across like one of these idiots. 

I filled pages and pages. 

I tore out the pages, folded the top of the pages together and set it aside. 

My rage subsiding, I thought about what would happen if my booklet was found - by an adult. I thought about how I might get in trouble. So I wrote another one. This one was filled with things I should know as a kid. Things every kid should know.  

Shapes, numbers, alphabets.

Ugh. Boring. I wrote three pages and gave up. 

Finished, I held both booklets in my hand. I remember very clearly thinking that I shouldn’t need the booklet about what to remember as an adult. Right? Because I wasn’t going to be one of those adults. Promise? I was going to remember what it was to be a kid. Yes! I was going to remember what questions to ask. Absolutely! I was going to remember how to talk to a kid. 

I remember thinking that if I held onto the booklet, wasn’t that just giving myself permission to be that kind of adult? The kind that forgets? 

Challenge accepted. I threw the booklet away. Triumphantly. Fiercely. Believing with all my being I would never need it.

I don’t remember a word I wrote. 

But I held onto this one... 🙄