Charlotte Morse-Fortier

MISSING MY SANDBOX DAYS

Growing up can be such a disappointing and wistful process. Our childhood is gently pulled from us like a security blanket, leaving us chilled. The preschool years, where everyone has the same number of crackers for snack, are over too soon.

                  Once everyone played on the same sunny playground, used the same crayons, formed shapes from the same salty play dough. We never had to decide things for ourselves then, for we were wrapped in our comforting sameness. Now we are all going off in different directions, searching for things that we like and are good at and could get us into Columbia. Where we used to seek common ground, games we could play together, now we seek to distinguish ourselves, to be individuals. There seems to be nothing but choices, each one taking us farther away from the cozy childhood years and towards a coolly rational adulthood. As we struggle to succeed in the large world of grownups, we forget our snug security blanket years and the ease with which we greeted life.

                  What happened to the power we once had over our smooth warm worlds? Suddenly they expand outside ourselves to a vast expanse of humankind where we feel we can never make an imprint. When we realize that we share the planet with billions of other people, it can be hard to feel important. Does it have to be this way? Does growing up have to be so anti-climactic? Maybe we just need to pull out our picture books and footsie pajamas and really remember what it was like. Instead of mourning what we had, maybe we can find a way to bring the light and warmth of our childhood into our new life.