Through the Ages

I am one. Splattering my birthday cake all over the table. There are no friends at my party, only family. They smile. "Oh did she really? That's amazing. She's ahead in her class already? Well, we always knew she was bright."

I am three. I have friends now. My dog, BJ, and my kitties. I play with them. I talk to them. They listen to me. We have tea parties and play with mud. Inside friends, like kitties are calm and sleep with me in my bed. Outside friends like BJ steal steaks off the grill and play with me in the tall grass of the backyard. I love my friends.

I am five. I am going to school now. A private Christian academy. My uniform is strange, with poofy shoulders on my white button-down shirt. My jumper is red plaid, and my little black shoes make strange clomping noises on the floor. But Mommy and Daddy paid for them with a little money they'd saved. So I pull up my hair and clip it with the little red barette my mother bought me. It matches the plaid. It was the one thing she let me get that wasn't on my mandatory list. It was special. And so I would wear it to my first day of school.

I am eight. School is different now. My friends are non-existent. My classes take up alot of time. I am bussed over to a different school for special classes. Mommy and Daddy worked hard to get me into these special classes. I try as hard as I can to pay attention and do everything right. I find my sister each day after school and we board the bus together. Our parents won't be home when we get there. I will watch after my sister and make her a bowl of soup or cereal.

I am eleven. I have a best friend, Heather. We like to talk during school, but my grades are terribly important, my parents say. I focus even on the boring subjects and get the best scores I can. I work hard in gymnastics, trying hard to impress my mother. I am getting better but I'm not there yet.

I am fourteen. High school is the strangest of places. The campus is a big, wide, unfamiliar world. My classes are full of people who do not try and it irritates me. Do they not care about their future? There is a boy in my class whom I like very much. He gives me roses on Valentine's Day and we are the talk of the school. I am more social now, going bowling or to the movies. But always I return to look after my sister and make sure her homework and mine are completed before bed.

I am sixteen. I have suffered a move mid-semester and the worst heartbreak ever. That boy of mine freed me for my own good, he swears. My school is more important now than ever. My grades are impeccable, my circle of friends quickly grows, as does my love life. There is a new boy, a better boy. He looks at me like I am the greatest thing in the world.

I am seventeen. I am accepted to college, and working part-time to raise some money. My parents finally confessed that they would be unable to lend me a financial hand during college, but I had already guessed as much. I was awarded a full-ride to ASU. Only problem was. . . I didn't want what came with it. Four years of college paid for meant four years of military service afterwards. I swallowed hard and signed my name. My parents didn't have enough money, so I would sacrifice four years.

I am eighteen. College is rigorous but seems futile, in all honesty. That boy of mine is still just that. . . a boy. He is joining the army soon, and though it makes me sad, I hope it will make him grow up. I am working forty hours in a desperate attempt to have enough for tuition, in a desperate attempt to live on my own. And only now do I realize that the world never really changed. . . just my point of view.