Ten

 When I was ten, I was the tall kid in school – much taller than everyone except for the one boy and girl who always sat next to me in the back of the classroom.  She is tall, too.  Blame early development, hormones in chicken, genetically engineered vegetables, and whatever else you want, but she is my child and she is tall.

When I was ten, I did well in school.  I studied and studied and never missed a spelling word.  She does well in school too, and is smarter than I was at ten.  Way smarter.

When I was ten, I worried about nuclear war, being abducted, getting lost, talking to strangers, the dark, snakes, and frogs.  She is afraid of the dark and has never heard about nuclear war.

When I was ten, I had a core group of close girlfriends.  We shared a lot, lived for sleepovers, and giggled in school.  Making friends was hard because I was shy and timid, but I loved my friends deeply.  She has fierce girlfriends and makes a new friend practically everywhere we go.

When I was ten, I was emotional and sensitive, usually by myself, in my room, worrying about things that a ten-year-old worries about.  Things always came at me hard; I was easily injured and retreated to think about my injuries and to heal my wounds.  She is sensitive, too, but uses her sensitivity to reach out to others.

When I was ten, I danced but hated gym class and playing sports.  She loves gym class, dancing, and basketball.  I would have rather died than to play basketball when I was ten, and she not only loves it, she gets it.

When I was ten, I listened to old Beatles’ albums and the Annie soundtrack over and over in the huge headphones that I’d steal from my brother.  She dials up favorite songs on her iPod and makes videos of herself dancing and singing to them.

When I was ten, I played Barbies for hours, setting up elaborate houses and plotlines.  She does, too.

When I was ten, I loved Michael Jackson, George Michael, and Madonna.  She loves Selena Gomez, Bruno Mars, and Usher.

When I was ten, my brother and I fought terribly.  She and her brother do, too.

When I was ten, I would have loved to have been friends with my daughter.  I think she’d love that, too.

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This post inspired by:

Mama Kat's Writing Workshop

Prompt #5: When you were your youngest child’s age, what were you like?  Would you have been friends with your child? Why or why not?