I remember

I remember the first time I stayed on the telephone all night with a boy. I tried so hard to keep my voice muffled, but I'm sure my frequent giggles escaped my efforts.

I remember popping popcorn in what now seems like an antique machine. We'd measure out the kernels, pour them in, and then listen to the whir and pop, pop, pop. We'd watch as the fluffy pieces climbed to the top and then coasted down the slide at the lip of the machine into an oversized bowl. Of course we'd then proceed to douse the miniature white clouds with an excessive amount of melted butter. Mmm...

I remember riding my bike down the steepest hill in the neighborhood, the feel of wind and freedom whipping around me, until I reached the bottom, red-faced and exuberant.

I remember the urgency and fever of first love. Feeling like you were walking on air and couldn't breathe and wishing time could stand still. Learning what it felt like to have butterflies flapping their wings in your stomach, trapped and trying to get out.

I remember using my living room for a concert hall, belting out my favorite songs with abandon to an audience of tables and chairs.

I remember the first time I shaved my legs, away from home so mom wouldn't know, with a cheap plastic razor and feeling astonished at how smooth legs could actually be. I wanted so desperately to be grown up.

Why on earth do we all want so desperately to be grown up?