The day hurries on as I sit. Waiting for something—anything—I sit by my window. As I watch the cars roll by, the trees wave and the sun smiles. Before I know it though, the light has faded into the dark and I am left in silence.

     Turning, I finally stand, walk to my mirror and there I am. I—me—this person that I call “myself” is looking back and I don’t recognize her.

     Susan Jason Socks.

     Yes, I know that my middle name is a guy’s name, but explain to me then why I have a Great Great Aunt Jason?

     Yes, I know that my last name is “interesting.” Hey, at least it’s easy to spell and pronounce.

     Glancing up and down, I realize that I’ve looked about the same for the past few years, yet today I don’t recognize myself. I am fourteen, but I don’t feel any different though I know that I am. I must be; I mean, why else does every family member over twenty keep pinching my cheek with an accompanied, “You’re getting so grown up!”?

     I don’t feel grown up. If anything, I feel more like a child than I did when I was twelve—I had all the answers then. Now I just have questions and I’ve heard it just gets worse with age.

     My mother once told me that adults were just big kids who had to pay bills; that we never grow up. I hope that’s true because I can’t stand much more of this “growing up.” Perhaps it’s all a crock—like Valentine’s Day was created by the card companies—my older brother swears by that.

     Paul, my brother, is always sure that he has the answer even if he doesn’t know anything about the question. He once assured me that A Tree Grows in Brooklyn was set in Texas and was convinced that the author put “Brooklyn” in the title to confuse the reader. I agreed, of course, simply to get him to be quiet so that I could continue reading.

     Perhaps that’s what my parents mean by “You’ll understand when you’re older, honey.” It’s not that you know the Truth, but that you think you do. Thus, you’re happy because you have all your answers even if they’re wrong. I was happy when I was young because I knew all I needed to and if I didn’t Mom and Dad always had a simple answer. Now I know that I know nothing and neither Mom nor Dad can offer me any advice that will fix anything. I’m just lost without a map or a compass. Hopefully when “I’m older” I’ll have a compass—it won’t matter if it works.

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