My crayons

I remember when boys and girls had cooties. I remember when scrunchies and overalls with high ponytails were my favorite. I remember when I didn't have a care in the world. Where weight, height, age, race, disabilities did not matter. I remember when the definition of love was love. I remember when the only thing I was scared of was the monster hiding in my closet or beneath my bed. When cellphones were folded up Capri Sun juice pocket; the straw as the antenna. The whole world was in my backyard and the safety of my neighborhood. I've gone to Egypt, Congo, Brazil, China, Nevada in one day without rest. Scissors and knives were used for paper and grownups. 

I remember those tea parties with my teddy bears and Barbie dolls. 

I remember when everything was simple. 

When every scribble you made was ice cream and A worthy instead of an scowl and lecture for making a lumpy circle. The teachers were always kind and never grumpy. There was nap time, play time, snack time, story time, sharing time. Any kind of time was the best time. 

But soon crayons became calculators, story time became study sessions, cooties became getting too involved at a young age. Imagination and creativity withered and faded away slowly churning into logic and responsibility. 

We are expected to act as adults but are not taken seriously. 

They tortured us and scared us for fifteen hard years then expect us to choose a career.

 I remember when I loved myself.

When I didn't look away from the mirror disgustedly. When I didn't constantly worry what other girls or boys thought of me and how I looked. I never worried about making friends. It was as simple as saying "hi, do you want to be friends?" Then all of a sudden you are best friends laughing and telling jokes, skipping down the hallways and swinging at the same time. I remember when it was easy to talk to grownups about what was happening with your emotions. 

Never did I wish I was dead or gone. Never did I wonder if other kids hated me. But I grew up. They stripped me of my freedom, my creativity, my ablility to be my own creative self and stripped me of my colorful crayons and teddy Bears. Then they handed me a new identity and set of organized rules of what I can and can't do. What was right and what was wrong. Papers began to be marked with red and my parents scolding faces. Kids began to be mean and cruel. Teachers began to pick you out and look down at you. I grew up. And so did you.

Why can't we be like children, not care of what others think? Be creative and free?