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I, Like Peter Pan

I hate growing up. I’m not good at it, I don’t care for it, and I prefer not to do it at all. I am quite intimidated by the fact that I’m a sixteen-year-old junior in high school. I am overwhelmed by activities and commitments and engagements and a stunning lack of sleep on a regular basis. And I am aware that this is only the beginning. That I will be slammed with much more, much quicker once I get to college, then when I’m in the real world doing real, adult things. And that scares the crap out of me.

I spent my time worrying about school, sports, band, boys, and other activities that I chose to consume my life with; and that was great. But now my mom is nagging me to begin driving school in order to get my license. I’m not only afraid of the responsibility of getting the license and taking the courses, but the fact that I, the least coordinated person in California, would be operating a motor vehicle, a killing machine. And not to mention the other wreckless drivers out there: texting, drinking, clipping their toenails. I’m destined to get into an accident!

And receiving mail used to be rare and fun and exciting. Now, every day I am tossed pamphlets for these random liberal community colleges in Oregon and New Jersey that I have no plans to go to. Then that causes me to think: if not here, then where? Where will I go to college? Where will I spend the next four to eight years of my life? And what will I do after that? What will my major and minor and future career be? I had no answers.

I hop onto the computer to find nearby colleges. Near to home so I can still see my mom often enough; but then near to my sister who is going to college now. I might want to rent an apartment with her when I’m later on in my college experience. Then I think: “Man, that’s weird, having an apartment. Our own place. Roommates. Like Monica and Rachel on ‘Friends.’ I remember that one episode when Rachel’s sister, Jill, comes to live with Rachel when she’s living with Phoebe and she goes shopping and gets the ‘apartment pants.’ I should get new pants.” Then I get off whatever college website I’m on and go online shopping for pants. My scatterbrain is not wired for finding my future college.

My grades are fairly good. Good enough to get into most any college. Of course not Harvard or Yale, but maybe a small university by the beach or the mountains. I have good extra circulars: lots of band, volunteer work, sports, and all that jazz. Colleges eat that stuff up. But of course I just do it for fun. I have yet to take my SATs: a huge factor in whether or not I may get into my (to-be-determined) dream college. I’m not a good test-taker. I’m a moderately smart person, but I do not handle well under test pressure. I worry about that.

Though I constantly fear whether or not I’m perfecting the art of growing up, I try my best to handle it. And no matter how much it scares me, I shall triumph and (hopefully) become a successful, happy, well-rounded human being.



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