I always promised myself I would never ever forget what it was like to be a kid. When Sarah challenged us to write something imaginative for her giveaway of the book Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child I knew what I wanted to write: a letter from a little girl to her unborn sister.
Dear Baby Sister,
It’s tricky being a kid sometimes. So I’m writing you this letter to make it easier for you to be a kid, so you’ll know what to expect.
For one thing, adults have already decided that your favorite meal is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It is not mine. I like fettucine.
And then there is the problem of adults always saying, “Wow have you grown! Why do you keep getting so big?” And I think that it is because they keep giving me peanut butter and jelly and if they do not want me to grow they should not feed it to me, but I do not say this, of course.
But those are the only bad things I can think of right now. Mostly, being a kid is fine. Except, I guess, when you make the mistake of using words you’re not supposed to know yet. Like when I told my swim teacher, “This life jacket makes me feel like a thickly encumbered mammoth!” and she gave me that strange look. That look was ‘cause I forgot I wasn’t really supposed to use those words yet. I can’t wait ‘till I’m old enough to use “dilapidated” without people thinking I’m nothing but a show-off. What if no other word will work? What am I supposed to do? This is a problem with being a kid.
Here’s another piece of advice: When boys sneak up on you and scare you or adults just talk over your head while you stare at their shirt buttons, you need a secret spot. That’s what my sister tells me, anyways, right before she skips off to her special spot. But that doesn’t bother me, because I found my own special spot! It gets quite cold there after awhile, and sitting on muddy splinters is uncomfortable, but I think that being uncomfortable is supposed to make all the other bad things in life feel better.
Steal chocolate chips.
Tell someone they’re thick.
Pinch an adult on St. Patrick’s Day. (They usually forget what day it is.)
Also, Mama and Papa are not like most adults. They don’t mind getting pinched on St. Patrick’s Day. They are more like…me, and you. Kids…but they are really smart. You’ll understand what I’m trying to say in a few years.
Last year, I always liked to pretend I was a grown-up. I would talk on the phone and type really fast and read all at once, and I thought it was fun. But this year, I’ve been watching most grown-ups, and I’ve decided that my age right now (6 and ¾) is the best age there is. Once you get a little bit older you have to do really hard math, where it takes an hour and an entire page to do one problem!! But if you are any younger then you are sent to bed too early. 6 and ¾ is the perfect age, even if you do have to have peanut butter and jelly every day.
Sometimes grown-ups have sad looks on their faces and have to whisper about depressing things for hours. Even though I’m curious, I’m glad I’m not old enough to know those things, because I wouldn’t want to be sad.
And some adults can’t play. You might not believe me right now, but it’s true. It’s strange, but when some people get to be too tall, they can’t even remember Hide and Seek or House anymore! As I said, Mama and Papa are not like that, but I thought I better warn you that some other people are.
I really can’t wait for you to get to the most perfect age of 6 and ¾ so that we can play together. I’ll wait for you! And I promise I will never ever get too tall to play with you.