When I was a Child (Guest Contributor: SueC)

 When I was a Child

By Guest Contributor: SueC

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things." Corinthians 13:11

I remember learning this in Sunday school, gosh, how long ago was that? Sometimes, it feels like a lifetime ago and sometimes it feels like just last week. Our Sunday school teacher, Mrs. MacEachern, whose voice always sounded like she was singing an octave higher than God intended, would tell us, 'Don't worry about what it means, you've got the rest of your lives to figure that out. For now, you must commit it to memory." I remember thinking, "Well, that's dumb!"

Now, here I sit, the events of this morning swirling in my head.

The day started out like any other. I woke at the usual time (7am), ate the usual breakfast, (Cheerios with milk and half a banana), watched my usual program (Captain Kangaroo) while absentmindedly searching for treasures in the couch, and dressed in the same clothes I'd dropped on the floor the night before. 

And then it happened.

To be honest, I shouldn't have been so surprised. I mean, it had been coming for a long time. I'd been preparing for just this thing. But you know when you wait for something for so long that you don't really expect it to happen anymore? You somehow imagine you'll go on in this state of anticipation forever, always waiting but never truly believing? And now, I'm not sure what to do. For today I must put away childish things.

I've been lying here, in the grass, on my tummy, thinking for quite some time. I'm not sure what to do next. The sun feels warm on my back and the freshly-cut grass smells like summer. How do I tell my family? It's a pretty big deal. It's not the kind of thing you just blurt out.

I watch an ant climb up and down the blades of grass: up and down and up and down and up and down. Doesn't he know that he doesn't have to go up and down? Doesn't he know that he can go around?

I keep an eye on him, squinting in the sun and listening for Auntie May. She's one of those people who believes I should always have something to do, and by 'something', she doesn't mean watching ants. She always seems to know things before anyone else. I wonder how she does it? I wonder if she knows about this? 

Auntie May lives with us. Mom says it's because she hasn't found 'the one' yet and Dad says it's because they see her coming. I'm not sure what he means by that. It's funny that 'ant' and 'aunt' sound the same. What if they are the same? They both seem to always be busy, but I don't think either of them gets much done. 

Still, I can't think about that now. Today, I must put away childish things.

I must decide how to tell my mother. She's a wonderful mother and I'm worried that it will break her heart. She's soft in all the right places, full of love and kindness, and with the most wonderful smile. We like the same books. Charlotte's Web, for one. I look over her shoulder as she is reading and when we get to the place, we both shout 'Some pig!' and then we laugh and laugh and laugh. Paddington Bear for two. Sometimes, when she has helped me do up the top buttons on my winter coat and turned up the collar, she kisses me on the top of my head and whispers, 'Please look after this bear.' Once, when I was in a particularly peevish mood, I told her that I wasn't a bear and so why did she always say that? And she answered that it was just her little prayer and not to mind. But it couldn't be a prayer because she didn't put her hands together and bow her head and say, 'Amen' at the end the way Mrs. MacEachern does. I don't think my mom's doing it right. 

But I don't have time for that right now because today I must put away childish things.

I don't know how to tell Mom that I won't need her anymore.

What will happen to the cookies she bakes every Tuesday, rain or shine? When I come home from school, I know it's Tuesday because the aroma from the kitchen wraps around me in a warm hug of vanilla and sugar, and the yellow china plate that once belonged to my grandmother sits on the table ready. What will happen to them now when I am not there?

After today, who will hold Mom's hand and make sure she crosses at the corner on her way to the park? She's usually pretty good about traffic safety but sometimes when we come in sight of the playground, she'll point and say, "Look, there's the swings!" and tug my hand to hurry. I'm worried that in her excitement she'll forget to look both ways. Who will walk with her after today?

Who's going to help her with the groceries? Yes, she makes a list but there's always one or two things she forgets to add. Sometimes, it's the Kool-Aid. Sometimes, it's the chocolate milk. Occasionally, she forgets the ice-cream or the potato crisps. If I weren't there, I'm pretty sure she'd even buy the wrong cereal! Who will help her with the groceries when I'm not there?

Because today I must put away childish things. Today, I am a grown-up. The last thing I needed her for, the last vestige (to use one of Mrs. MacEachern's words) of dependence on her, ended today. No longer do I need my mother. No longer will she be able to control my comings and goings. To say you must, or you must not, or just wait five minutes. Today, I became Captain of my own ship, Master of my own fate, Leader of my own pack. Today, I sang the magic incantation, "Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree. Crisscrossed, crisscrossed, trying to catch me. Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole. Popped out the other side, beautiful and bold, and it was done.

Today, I tied my own shoes.