Too Big Too Little Too Late

Thoughts of a teenage mind

Photo courtesy of Dan Carlson

Photo courtesy of Dan Carlson

This week, I've invited my daughter to provide a poem about what it feels like to be not quite an adult but no longer a little kid. I think most of us can relate...thank you hon.

At the moment,

I wonder if I’m growing up.

My back is more stiff than it was during my recess days.

I’m handling more conversations with adults than I used to.

I’ve not been offered a new doll or coloring book for years.

Birthdays and holidays get me less toys and games and more clothes and money and gift cards and historical fiction novels.

Halloweens are more half hearted trips down memory lane than actual trips for sugar highs.

I’ve started understanding more of my Dad's jokes.

Am I getting old?

But that can’t be…

I still get dinner made for me,

I  still live with my parents.

I don’t have any grey hairs (just a few light blond ones, right?)

My parents still call me nicknames but only the less elaborate ones.

I still ride the school bus and have no more than $20 on me on special occasions.

I still go on day trips with a trusted family member.

I haven’t been approached with offers of any 401K’s, though I know the value of saving for retirement.

I still don’t own any kind of professional blazer or skirt or suit.

I’m not married or engaged


I can still go to playgrounds and swing on the swings and slide down the slides without being mistaken for an over enthusiastic parent,

but then again

I’m too tall to use the baby monkey bars but too short for the bigger ones.

Is this growing up?

Lana Bastianutti