I Don't Want to Grow Up

Friday, March 25, 2022 9:30 p.m.

Dear Diary,

What's wrong with me? Is it weird that I really like where I'm at and what I'm doing with my life? All my friends do is talk about getting out of this "podunk" town and how there's nothing to do. So they dream about next week, next summer, five years down the road...and they miss the NOW.

In the school cafeteria, it's a constant litany of when they get a car, then they can go places and do things. When they graduate from High School, then they can get a job and start making money. When they go to college, they can party and meet girls and do whatever they want. It gives me a headache.

Seriously? I don't want a car. If I had a car, everyone would be asking for a ride but no one would bother giving me money for gas. They'd eat in my car and stink it up with their fried foods and sweaty sneakers, but never offer to wash it on Saturdays. When it breaks down, no one's going to offer to fix the alternator! The gas and insurance alone are enough to make me smile every time I see my 20" royal blue Huffy BMX bike propped against the garage door. It's not like I have a girlfriend that I want to take on a date or anything. I'm 12 for goodness sake. From what my dad says, girls are expensive, and I just don't need that in my life.

I love being 12. Except for my face starting to get pimples and the odors from my armpits starting to ramp up. Mom bought some deodorant and face stuff for me, and my sister left a sticky note on the bathroom mirror saying I needed to shower more. My voice sounds like it can't figure out if it wants to be tenor or baritone, but dad says that's normal. Embarrassing, but normal.

So if I'm being honest, I like the fact that mom and dad take care of everything.

They provide a roof over my head, clothes when the seasons change or I've grown out of stuff, a pretty cool bedroom, a dog named Remy, great meals, food in the fridge, and snacks in the cupboards. Mom takes me to my soccer practice, robotics club, and piano lessons, which I know she gets tired of doing and keeps saying she can't wait until I grow up and can get a car of my own! Ugh!! What's wrong with everyone? I thought moms were the ones who wanted their kids to stay babies forever. That's a myth. Secretly they want you to grow up so you can ultimately take care of yourself. And I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that. So far, my life is good, and I don't want anything to mess it up.

Sunday March 27, 2022, 7:30 p.m.

Dear Diary,

Sunday's are always the same. At least for the last 12 years. Early breakfast of waffles instead of cereal, and fresh squeezed orange juice instead of milk. After breakfast everyone rushes around getting ready for church. The ironing board is out to press white shirts, dad is trying to tie his tie and mom has to help. No sneakers or jeans on Sunday. That's the rule. Something I might like to change when I grow up, but I'm not complaining too much. It's a small sacrifice to pay to have an easy life of pleasure.

As we file out of the house and into the garage, dad gives me the car a once over to make sure I didn't miss any spots when I washed the car yesterday. "Lookin good kid," is his comment to me for a job well done. Waiting on my older sister is always the beginnings of tension that slowly mounts while I buckle my baby sister in her car seat.

Mom puts on her lipgloss and checks her hair in the pull down mirror while dad adjusts the radio station to the local Christian music. And we wait...a few glances at his watch, and a giant sigh from mom and eventually big sis shows up. At 14 years old, she thinks she's big enough for pink lipstick. She's wrong. Mom reaches back and hands her a tissue and says, "nice try, wipe it off please."

I don't have to go to Sunday School anylonger since I turned 12. Now I'm in the Big Church with the grownups. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Actually, I am. I don't like it. Like I said, I'm not ready to grow up yet. I now belong to a new Youth Group, which is ages 12-15. After that is the Senior Youth Group, ages 16-21. I've heard stories and some of them were pretty cool, so we'll see. Our first even will be the local amusement park. I like the place well enough. I have a secret fear or phobia that I'm not comfortable sharing with others. I get if from my dad, so I'm told. I'm terrified of heights. From what I've seen, most of the rides there definitely fall into the category of HIGH. I've been teased before by this phobia, by my sister, but letting a bunch of tweens/teens know my weakness is a little disturbing. I have a couple weeks to prepare myself and figure out how I'll manage.

Sunday always had food after church. I am always down for food. Mom says I have a hollow leg. I got no idea what that means, except that I eat a lot. Mexican food is typically the choice if we are going out. It's cheap for a family and offers chips and salsa to fill up on. If we go home, which we have been doing a lot lately, mom does something simple or dad puts some steaks and burgers on the grill when the weather is nice. Yep, I've got a great life. And I don't want anything to change. Growing up is overrated. Call me Peter Pan if you must, but I just don't wanna grow up.

Friday, March 31, 2022, 8:00 p.m.

Dear Diary,

My best friend, Noah is spending the night, and while he’s in my room playing video games and eating my snacks, I’m huddled in the bathroom writing in my journal. That’s not strange, right? I’ve never been ashamed of writing my thoughts down in my journal before.

My sister teases me endlessly, but I never let it bother me because it’s great practice for a job as a journalist or authoring a great novel one day. Plus, it gives me an outlet to talk about stuff that no one else would be interest in. It’s not girly or wimpy. Maybe I should stop writing “dear diary” and just write. Why does it matter? My dad said there’s nothing wrong with it and I should write to my hearts content, and he’s the manliest man I know. Mom just smiles and pats my head. She understands. I believe I have a good balance of things as a 12-year-old guy. I love writing, reading and great music on vinyl. But I also like playing video games online with my friends, riding bikes around my town, watching movies, playing soccer and…well, that about covers it. Oh, and eating! That’s a good balance, right?

Mom says that I should try out a lot of different things, because that’s the only way I’ll know what I’m good at and if I want to seriously pursue it. Sounds reasonable. I wonder if there’s a future in video gaming.

Dad keeps bring subtle clues up about getting a summer job doing things around the neighborhood so I can start saving my money. Why would I need to save my money? They take care of all my needs. They’re impressive like that. But I have a weird feeling that he means something else. Not sure yet, but I’m certain he’ll bring it up again.

Now my head is filled with things I could do to earn money…besides my normal weekly allowance, which isn’t much because mom says most things around the house are just part of keeping the wheels nice and oiled. Bottom line, we don’t get paid for doing the normal stuff, like making your bed, putting your dishes in the sink, wiping off the crumbs after making a sandwich, putting your dirty clothes in the hamper and keeping up with your hygiene, homework and general upkeep. So, what exactly would I get paid for? Hmmm. She says, “I’ll pay you an allowance for doing something beyond what is expected of you. And…you do without complaint or coercion.” Mom was in law school when she met dad. She married and started a family and law school got set aside. But she still acts and sounds like an attorney at times. I asked her one day if she regretted it. She laughed out loud and gave me a hug. She didn’t say no! These are some of the reasons why I don’t want to grow up. So much pressure! I love my little cocoon, and I don’t see anything that could persuade me to change my way of thinking. At least not yet!

Gotta go. I forgot about my friend still playing video games in my room with my snacks. If he asks what I've been doing, I'll just say I've been pondering ways to stay 12.

Wednesday, April 6, 2022, 3:00 p.m.

Dear Diary,

This will be my last entry for the next 6-8 weeks. I’m sitting on a hard cold exam table, wearing a very thin gown that only covers my front and leaves my rear end exposed. My mom is writing this for me while I dictate. I only have a few minutes until the doctor comes in to reset my arm and put it in a cast. That’s going to hurt, so I’ve been told. But they promised good meds (whatever that means) and it certainly can’t hurt anymore than it already does.

While riding bikes with Noah and a few other friends from school this morning, we decided to ride down into the canal. It didn’t have much water in it, and the concrete looked smooth and easy enough to ride along the side. Noah went first and I was going to follow. The best way to be assured of a safe and exciting ride, is the speed. If you go too slow, you won’t make it up the other side, and you could slide down into the water and hope your friends can drag you out before catching some nasty brain-eating amoeba. If you go too fast, you run the risk of popping up the other side, which is extremely close to ongoing traffic. Feeling confident for my first try, I had good speed, and popped a wheelie on the top side and started to land in the bike lane, when a scooter came out of nowhere and I don’t remember much after that.

Next thing I know, I’m in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. All I could think about was how mad my parents were going to be. And then all I could think about was the pain screaming through my right arm and shoulder. Turning my head to look at my arm was a mistake. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the ER. They told me I passed out. My arm is broken in two places and needs to be reset so it will grow right. The cast will stay on for 6-8 weeks which shouldn’t be too bad, because it will be off by the time Summer starts! Soccer season doesn’t start until October, so I’m not worried about that. I just have to figure out a way to get through the last quarter of school with one left arm.

Mom has this permanent crease down the middle of her forehead and is chewing on her thumbnail. She hasn’t said anything about why I was doing what I was doing. Remember, she’s writing this for me, so I have to be careful!

I think she’s mostly worried and grateful that I’m okay. It’s my first broken bone, ever, so she has been lucky. Noah has a standing reservation at the ER and Urgent Care. They know him on a first name basis. I consider my parents lucky to have such a great kid like me!

A cute nurse with red hair just came in with a very long needled shot thingy. I think I’m going to be sick. Can’t they just put me to sleep? They keep assuring me I won’t remember a thing. I’ll be awake, but in a deep dream like mode. I told them I want to be knocked out. They told me I couldn’t make my own decisions until I was 18.

Maybe there are a few advantages to being grown up. I’ll have to re-think my viewpoint when I’m rehabilitating for the next few months. Until then, this is Yuri, saying “here’s to staying a kid for as long as possible.”