Child's play

When do you stop being a child? In developmental psych 250, Shelley Schreier taught us that the new school of thought says childhood isn't really over until the 21st birthday (a terrifying concept for me, being that I had my 22nd birthday in june...according to that definition I am indisputably, undeniably, officially an ADULT. God that is TERRIFYING. ) But after spending the last month and a half with school age children about 90% of my time, I've become incredibly curious, nostalgic, and a bit melancholic about the notion of childhood- especially since mine is technically over.

Toby, my 4 yr. old, will sit on the floor for hours with his knees bent and bottom in between, with the kind of little-kid flexibility that can never again be attained, no matter how much yoga one undertakes. He'll sit and sing, and move a truck, or a lego boat (like right now) around and around contentedly for hours. Benji (6) loves games, and can play creations of his own such as "monster micheal" (really just hide and seek, but the counter has a white dishrag over his eyes, hence the "monster'' part) for hours on end, squealing with joy every time someone is found. Taking the kids to school, we arrive at 8:15 am. I have been up since 7, and am trudging along the sidewalk like a zombie with a gun to her head. But on the "kermesse" (green astroturf) there are 10 or so little boys engrossed in a very active game of football. I used to run early in the morning, but I never popped out of my bed excitedly and enthusiastically, as I imagine these young boys would anticipating a morning game of football with their friends. It was more of a duty to be fulfilled, desperately wanting to slam off the alarm and hide under the covers, but knowing that your body mind and spirit would be better off afterwards for going.

The question I've been pondering lately is, when exactly, do we lose this childlike ability to play pretend, to be naturally in constant motion, and to be joyfully and excitedly partaking in all of the "mundane" details in life? When does natural, free movement cease, to be replaced by the planned and forcibly executed excercise? Responsibility is one of the essences of adulthood, ie- forcing yourself out of bed to run when you don't want to- but when and why did adulthood become a struggle? Where along the line do we lose our natural tendency towards happiness, for the ensuing struggle everafter rediscover it?

I've heard a lot about Maslow from psychology courses (and my mom), whose philosophy had an ultimate goal of "sel-actualization," or reaching your highest potential. According to him, a self-actualized person lived in the moment, in a permament, happy, childlike state. I must wonder though, how many people can live in the moment if not all, at least most of the time. For me, it's difficult. If I'm playing blocks with Benji and Toby, I can't help but thinking of all the things I'd rather be doing (writing emails, reading the Fountainhead). And yet at these moments, I also feel longing jealousy at the simplicity of childhood: being content and happy playing blocks. I also have feelings of fear and guilt, wondering if all "play" with my future children will be a necessary semi-burden, something to get through before moving onto the next task on my "to-do" list.

Everything about my life right now is new and difficult for me, as this is the first time in my life I've ever taken on a real "adult role." Even at university, I knew that if I needed my mom or dad (sick, hurt, sad, etc) they would be on their way in no time. I felt that constant warmth of the security blanket that was (are) my parents. I had a soft place to fall, even if it was a rather long way (Ann Arbor to Rochester- approx. 90 miles). But now, in Geneva, I am the adult, I am the warmth and security, responsible for two precious little lives.

When Michelle comes home from work and Benji and Toby run to her open arms to be hugged and kissed and called "my lovely ones," my heart aches for not only for the tangible aspect of my parents' unconditional love, but also for a time long past where I knew that they were there to take care of me. Relying completely on myself for my needs, my happiness, my life for the first time is terrifying. There is a hole in my heart for the days when "responsibility" was remembering to make my bed, brush my hair, or do my spelling homework. Days when I too could play hide and seek and soccer with my cousins for hours on end, never once thinking that what we were doing would be considered "exercise."

I stil feel unsettled after writing this post. I thought it would help sort out my feelings or draw some sort of conclusion, but now I just feel more confused than ever. I know some of my family reads this blog, so if anyone out there has any comments or insights, I'd love to hear them.

To hoping I'll someday play hide and seek and legos with the best of them.....