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little people
Jun. 28th, 2003 10:05 pmEverytime we go to the mall in MA, we see these teenagers. My age, of course: high school kids. They'll be seniors next year.
I knew them when we were in first grade. They were little! Cute little kids, innocent little kids, 7-year-old little kids. And that guy with the blue hair, that girl in those skin-tight jeans--they might be my classmates, my friends, the kids I played T-ball with and that one annoying girl who stalked me when I was in first grade, or the popular girl everyone was dying to be friends with (her name was Rachel) or the one guy who irritated me. And one of them is, according to my book of first grade memories, named Ari, and I don't know which one he is, or what color his hair might be now, or anything.
It's so weird. I can't look at them without thinking of my first grade friends, looking for some distinguishing features that will erase ten years and let me recognize them. It's so strange.
It makes me feel old.
I knew them when we were in first grade. They were little! Cute little kids, innocent little kids, 7-year-old little kids. And that guy with the blue hair, that girl in those skin-tight jeans--they might be my classmates, my friends, the kids I played T-ball with and that one annoying girl who stalked me when I was in first grade, or the popular girl everyone was dying to be friends with (her name was Rachel) or the one guy who irritated me. And one of them is, according to my book of first grade memories, named Ari, and I don't know which one he is, or what color his hair might be now, or anything.
It's so weird. I can't look at them without thinking of my first grade friends, looking for some distinguishing features that will erase ten years and let me recognize them. It's so strange.
It makes me feel old.
