Growing Up is Optional

“Grow up.”

I was no more than six and I had just skinned my knee on the rough asphalt of the cul-de-sac where my grandmother lived. For reasons more complicated than the parameters of this story, my second cousin was being raised by my grandmother. She was five years older than me and undoubtedly resented having to always play with the “littler” kids. But she must have known her arguments would fall on deaf ears and conceded to riding bikes and drawing with sidewalk chalk at the end of the cul-de-sac.

I’ve had an active imagination since I was little. One of my favorite activities during that time was to use the sidewalk chalk to draw an entire community--we had a house, a post office, and a supermarket. The only downside to drawing yourself a chalk house on gravelly pavement is your chalk bed isn’t very comfortable to lie down on.

As a result, we often abandoned our chalk villages shortly after taking the effort to draw them. Instead, we would ride bikes or entertain ourselves some other way… because in those summer afternoons, one thing we were told was not to come back in the house until the street light came on (unless we needed a potty break).

One of the struggles of having an older cousin as your playmate is always trying to prove you can do anything they can do. She could ride her bike without training wheels, so that meant I could too. Except I couldn’t. I barely got the bike upright for more than a few seconds before wobbling and toppling it to the ground. I didn’t know it yet, but that rough asphalt would be the source of many years of skinned knees in my future.

But at the time, my knee was bleeding and I was wailing. If you never had siblings or cousins or even neighbors to play with growing up, you may not know this, but you never want the adults to come outside when one starts crying. Because whether it was your fault or not, you still catch the blame for it. So my cousin tried everything she could to shush me until she grew frustrated and shouted at me that it was just a skinned knee.

“Grow up!”

I was thirteen and at this point, the older cousin I spent so much of my early childhood with had become an adult and moved out on her own. I had another cousin who was less than two years younger than me and from the time he could walk and talk, we were practically inseparable.

He had two older brothers who were often charged with babysitting us and their idea of babysitting was to sit us in front of a TV and put Star Wars on. Rick and I were obsessed with Star Wars. About once a month, if our grades in school were satisfactory, my grandma would take us to Toys R Us and let us each get something. Star Wars Episode I was fresh out of theaters and Rick and I were bound and determined to have the entire collection of action figures, so each time we were granted a Toys R Us trip, we added on to the collection.

One particular trip, I happened to run into someone I knew from school. Rick and I went to different schools so he didn’t know this girl, but I did. She was that type who would tease and bully and spread rumors about people. So, when she saw us on the Star Wars or “boy toy” aisle, her upper lip curved into a haughty sneer and she said, “Ugh, seriously Christina? You still play with Star Wars toys? Grow up.”

Speaking of Star Wars, that love never vanished. When I was seventeen and a senior in high school, Star Wars Episode III was premiering in theaters and I had tickets to go with all my friends. The local newspaper was there and they had games and even a costume contest. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to dust off my old Princess Leia costume from a few Halloweens back. It was just for fun anyway, but wouldn’t you know it… I won third place in the costume contest. (It helped that I had crazy long brown hair and fashioned it in the classic Leia buns instead of using a wig).

What I wasn’t expecting was the costume contest winners’ pictures to be on the front page of the newspaper. When I got to school the following Monday, copies of the paper were being passed around all over school and despite the girl who won first place was clearly older than me, I was being teased and criticized for going to the movies in “dress up.”

“Grow up,” I was told. “You’re about to go to college.”

Skipping ahead to when I was twenty and in college. One of my other favorites aside from Star Wars was Harry Potter. My best friend from high school had gotten me hooked on that franchise and all throughout middle and high school, we attended the midnight releases of every book together (once we were old enough). The final book was being released the summer between my second and third year of college and Alice and I had already bought our tickets and made our plans.

We met up at the Books-A-Million with a few other friends from high school and there must be something about a series finale that prompts games, costume contests, and newspaper articles because all of the above was present for the book release just as it had been for the Star Wars film. We had a night of great fun and even scored a few silly prizes for answering some trivia questions correctly.

We went home, immediately read the book, and called each other to squeal over it. Once summer was over and we returned to our respective colleges, I found myself in another first day of semester classes, and I swear it must be a curriculum requirement we aren’t told about to ask your students what they did over summer vacation. 

I shared with enthusiasm my reunion with my friend at the Harry Potter book release and from the reactions of the class, I recognized a few other Potterheads among the classroom. But inevitably, I also got the reaction I expected from others—snickering, muttering, and one person who did that cheesy fake cough that did nothing to hide his real words. “Grow up.”

Throughout my twenties, I found my career and got married. I found someone who isn’t quite as big of a nerd as me but enjoys my enthusiasm for the things that make me happy. And he knows one of those things is Harry Potter. For our third wedding anniversary, we went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter theme park in Orlando, Florida.

This was truly an act of love because my husband hates crowds of any kind. He won’t even go see a movie on opening night. But he chose to take us to a very crowded theme park in order for me to fulfill a fangirl dream of mine—to see the Hogwarts castle in real life.

I visited Ollivander’s and got myself a wand, I tried butterbeer, and I ate at the Three Broomsticks. Euphoria is not a strong enough word to describe the joy I felt on that trip. But as I’ve learned from life, there are always people who try to suck the joy out of things… and for no apparent reason either.

When we returned home and I was sharing stories and photos of my trip with a few people from work, someone (who wasn’t even included in the discussion) scoffed and said, “Seriously? You’re thirty years old and you went to a park designed for kids? Grow up.”

I didn’t even bother trying to argue that plenty of people who are not children—or who do not have children, like me—enjoy going to theme parks like Universal Studios and Disney World. That’s an argument that again, like telling the adults you had nothing to do with your cousin skinning her knee, would fall on deaf ears. 

So, I did what I’ve always done and shrugged it off. Everyone has the things that bring them joy and everyone’s joys are inherently different because we are all inherently different. Fictional worlds and characters are what have always brought me joy and at thirty-four years old, I’ve finally developed the courage to do something I have always wanted to do. I am writing my own original novel. 

I’m still in the planning phase but I know for certain it will be in the YA (Young Adult) genre. And I am almost certain there will undoubtedly be someone who scoffs and tells me “Grow up.” That’s what they all told me. And I refused to listen every step of the way. Because growing older is inevitable… but growing up is something we choose.