Remember Being A Kid?

I really enjoyed reading this. So much so, I thought I'd share it.

Being a kid isn't always great — OK, it can stink

Sometimes I have to remind myself it wasn't always THAT great being a kid. For instance, it stinks to be a kid when you're getting picked on at school or when you're in a fight with your friends and they're passing snotty notes about you to other people. It stinks when all your friends are in the high reading group and you're not, and it also stinks when you don't understand the math worksheet even though really stupid boys do.

It stinks when the boy you love doesn't love you back because he already loves the girl who has a chest. It stinks when you get caught doing something you shouldn't do and the principal hauls you into the office to call your mom. Again.

Here are some other things that stink when you're a kid. Losing school library books, especially ones you didn't like anyway. Waiting for your parents while they talk to people after church. Forgetting your homework. Doing stupid geography reports on countries you never heard of because somebody else already got the country you wanted, i.e. "Switzerland." Having to eat stuff you hate, like oatmeal. Being the last kid on the hill with lace-up ski boots. Getting a home permanent because your mom thinks you'll look cute with one.

Wait! There's more! Missing the bus. Listening to adults fight. Going to bed in the summer when it's still light outside. Watching what your grandpa wants to watch on TV, such as the news or "The Lawrence Welk Show." Not having your own money. Not having your own transportation because your brother left your bike outside and it got stolen — just like your dad said it would.

For me, one of the worst things about being a kid was that I didn't always know how to say what I meant, especially to adults. Let me give you an example. When I was 4 or 5 years old, I went with my parents to Liberty Park, where I struck up one of those quick kid friendships with a tiny girl my own age. We chased around for a while, after which we hauled our happy sweaty selves over to the water fountain to get a drink. My new best friend bent over the spout first, and I turned the handle up for her because I wanted to help. Only oops! The water gushed into her face and soaked her shirt.

The next thing I knew her mother was swooping down on me, berating me for getting her daughter wet. I wanted to apologize, to tell her it was an accident. But I couldn't find the words, so I stood there feeling shame pump through my veins. The mother grabbed her daughter by the wrist and marched her far, far away from me, and as I remembered the whole episode on our way home from the park, I started to cry.

"What's the matter?" my mother asked. I wanted to tell her. Only I couldn't find the words. Instead, I just buried my face in the car seat and cried.

So, as I was saying, it wasn't always that great to be a kid.
I was, in fact, saying this to myself as I stepped out onto the porch this morning where I found my cat, Coco, sprawled on the welcome mat. Coco, who isn't a year old yet, is pretty much like a hummingbird — always in motion. So to see her lounging around like that amused me. Better still, she let me pick her up. Immediately she climbed onto my shoulder and buried her head in my hair and purred like a motor. She smelled like sun and cut grass and sidewalk — just like my old cat Ginger used to smell when she rode around on my shoulder.

And suddenly I was 10 again, and another voice inside me said, "Actually, it was that great to be a kid."

By Ann Cannon