Childhood, Growing up, Nostalgia, and Ghosts

When I was growing up, adults always told me how much they wish they could be kids again and how much fun childhood was. And I always wondered if they had it much better then me, if the process of losing ones mind starts earlier then people in the health care professional industry think :D , if their memories were accurate, or if as one got more responsibility and life got more complicated, they begin to appreciate simplicity and see childhood as the ultimate simplicity.

Now, as an adult, I can honestly say, there is not enough money in the world, enough tea in china, enough of anything to make me want to do that again.. this life at least. Maybe for every single superpower like flying or world peace and the end of world hunger I would be willing to consider it.

I hear people around me talk about being a kid. They talk about staying out late, coming home to dinner on the table, little if any responsibility. A simpler easier time. Well I like my responsibility-filled complex life. I like having projects to do and being in charge of my life. I love my independence and freedom. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to return to a time when you have to ask permission to go to a friends house.

Like most kids, I went to school. I hated every second of it. It was repetitive, boring, and a complete waste of time. In 3rd grade, they started working on multiplication tables; I was already working on long division of 10 plus digit numbers. I remember when I got an answer wrong on my 3rd grade division test. It was one of those timed test with 20 or so question on it. All the problems were either a number divided by 1 or a number divided by 0. I got all the ones divided by 1 right and the all the ones dived by 0 wrong. I took my test to the teacher and explained using a simple calculus proof (at the time I did not realize that is what I was using, nor did I realize how you write a calculus proof) of why any number divided by 0 is never 0 and is always ∞ (symbol for infinity). When my teacher just looked at me, I proceeded to explain the simplistic way I could, if you have 8 pizza’s and 0 people to give them to, you can give 0 people 8 pizza forever. Eventually, after talking with someone who was a higher level math person, I was giving 100 percent and the teacher understood the real answer is infinity and we tell kids 0 because it is too difficult to understand.

I really don’t remember much about being a kid. I tried really hard to forget. I did not want to remember the long days in school as the teacher repeated herself for the 82nd time. I did not want to remember the feeling of wasted days. I went to the same school for 10 years and most of the kids in my class did as well. I don’t really remember them anymore. I really don’t want to. I much rather live now.

Yesterday, I thought about someone I had not thought about since 8th grade. I went to school with him from kindergarten all the way up until we graduated. I never really thought about him before. He was usually a nice kid. I don’t use myspace or even have a account on it, but somehow I had stumbled onto his myspace site. I could have walked by him on the street a thousand times and never had known. He was no more or less important to me then anyone else I went to school with. He had myspace friends to other people who were in our graduating class as well. Again, I never would have known.

I would say of all my memories of being in school, which are few are far between being I worked so hard to forget, one that sticks out the most (besides me being a smart ass in class, or reading most of the day so my day was not a complete waste :D ) is one of him.

When I was in 7th or 8th grade. I broke my foot. I broke it in such a way, they could not cast it, but I had to use crutches, and missed a school fieldtrip. He stayed back with me. He did not even laugh when I had to do the ABCs with my food as part of the physical therapy, and he even did it with me. I don’t remember if he stayed back to be nice or because he did not get his permission slip signed.

Later, he got me out of a behavior notice. I was never in much trouble at school, and I got written up I think for talking in class. He went to the teacher and explained he had asked me a question on the science booklet we were working on (it was science class) and I was just answering him. The teacher threw it away.

Perhaps he did mean more to me then other people. He was my friend.

I remember he used to get in trouble a lot more then his parents would have liked. I remember we might have been friends. I remember he was the only one to sign my 8th grade year book. He signed it KIT (keep in touch) and his phone number. I remember when I threw out all my year books hoping to never think of it again. I remember that after I graduated, I never really saw any of them again. I remember never wanting to see anyone from hell again. I remember a ghost. I remember a ghost of this little boy who is gone now replaced by an adult.

I don’t know this adult he became. I don’t know his friends, or if he still plays basketball. I don’t know what he wanted to be when he grew up, and I don’t know his new life. I saw this picture of him on myspace. I don’t know him, I just know a ghost. Some of them are ghost, and some aren’t even ghosts since I don’t remember them at all.

And to them, I am just a ghost.. or perhaps I never existed at all.

Adrienne :)

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