Why do we have to grow up? I really wish I had the answer, or at least I wish someone had the answer. Everyone asks me what I’m going to do when I graduate, but I really don’t know.

    I don’t have any idea what I want to do in the future, not even what I want to do tomorrow. I mean I know that not one person knows just what they will do years from now, but at least they have an idea. What do I have? Nothing. Just nothing.

    Every time I worry about the future, people always tell me to “just worry about today.” Worry about today? How can I worry about today when I’m focused on what I need to do by tomorrow and can’t seem to remember what I did yesterday? Growing up sucks.

   Why is that so many young people want to grow up, but the older ones wish they could go back to being kids? Wow, way to sound old, Alyssa.

    I’m serious, though. Why not enjoy the carefree life of being a kid while you can? Why do they want to worry about having a job, doing more school work, dealing with the drama that seems to sink its bloodthirsty claws into whoever it can?

    I must confess that I too wanted to grow up, but even when I was 10, I realized just how much I was going to be giving up. I didn’t want to let go of my cartoons, my Littlest Pet Shops, and my Monster High dolls. I was twelve, people.

    I knew that I didn’t have a choice or else I’d be criticized for my complete and utter childishness, but I felt a piece of me die the more I let go. But now look at me; I’m still a childish, whiny teenager that doesn’t want to grow up.

   I shouldn’t be old enough to have such big regrets, but I do. I regret not enjoying my childhood. I regret not spending more time with my old friends. I regret not thanking my parents for all the toys they gave me. I regret forgetting about my imaginary friends. And I regret growing up too fast.

    Knowing all the adult jokes is great, being able to drive is awesome, staying up late is something I’ve always done, and going out without an adult is freeing.

    But you must let go of everything else. No more Santa. No more Easter Bunny. No more Tooth Fairy. No one tucking me into bed. No more bedtime stories. No one doing my dishes. No one doing my laundry. No more anything.

   Now that I’m grown up, I know Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy are just sweet characters to keep us happy and hopeful. I tuck myself into bed, I read my own stories at night, I clean my own dishes, and I do my own laundry.

    I’m growing up, and I hate it. Why is considered weird to still enjoy the childish things in life? Who cares if I still want to watch SpongeBob or The Fairly Odd Parents or Kids Next Door? Yet I have no choice but to stop myself from becoming attached, or of being seen as too childish.

    I don’t need to be told to “grow up.” But why does it matter? If others around me can’t accept the way I am, then they have lost their sense of childhood. Why do I need to follow them into a shattered innocence? I don’t want to grow up, and I don’t think I ever will.