At my previous school, it seemed that every year in English class, we would end up reading the same short story: Eleven by Sandra Cisneros. This story is about a girl named Rachel on her eleventh birthday. Rachel through the duration of the story is thinking about how what nobody tells you about your birthday is that when you turn the next age, you still feel like you are the previous age or even all the other ages inside. You don’t just wake up and feel eleven, you still feel ten. And she says that you still are just underneath the year that makes you eleven (Cisneros lines 1-7).

Year after year we read and analyzed this story, and year after year, I rolled my eyes and sighed because I felt we were overanalyzing the whole thing. And maybe we were at least a little. But then, this year, the story kept randomly appearing in my mind. And I think I finally understood the point. 

I do think it’s true that the way we “grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like [those] little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one” (Cisneros lines 15-16). Maybe when something that scared you when you were six still scares you when you are seventeen, its because you still are six, somewhere deep inside. I think that’s why, no matter how old you are, sometimes you have a moment where you want your parents. I think this is also why sometimes you feel like crying over an event you might think you are too old to be upset about. Because you aren’t exactly too old. 

I know that as you grow up, you change, but maybe small parts of who you were hang on tight. And I personally believe that’s okay. It’s okay to be seventeen and forget you actually can drive yourself somewhere you want to go. It’s okay to be 30 and cry if you fall and hurt your knee. It’s okay to make a mistake and call your parents or grandparents for help even if you think you are too old for that. Those people won’t be there forever and you won’t ever be too old to ask for help from them. 

But, on the other hand, I do not believe this is an excuse to be Peter Pan and refuse to grow up or wear a more dignified outfit. Sometimes you are going to have to put your grown-up pants on and do hard things all by yourself, that is just how the world works, and how it should work. What I do think is that after you do the hard thing, after you accomplish a goal, you definitely can call up your parents and tell them and let them be proud of you whether you are 14 or 40. 

Personally, I think that no matter how old I am, I will continue pointing out all of the dogs I see on the street. And I also think that sometimes a comment that isn’t situationally appropriate will still slip out of my mouth when I’m 35. And I believe that both of those things are okay. Just because you grow up, doesn’t mean you have to fully leave your old selves behind.