Seventeen.

So, I deliver the announcements to my school every morning on the intercom, and usually end the agenda with a “Would you rather.” You know, like “Would you rather win a Nobel Prize or an Oscar? Always lose or never play? Never brush your teeth or never wash your face?” Well, we did this one a few days ago, “Stay the age you are now for the rest of your life or have Benjamin Button Syndrome?” Well, it sort of got me thinking about how much I love being seventeen. I LOVE being seventeen. If I could stay seventeen for the rest of my life I probably would. Ok, ok, I probably wouldn’t do that. But, I would marry “seventeen”, or at least get like engaged to it or something. As ridiculous as it sounds, I finally feel my age. When I was twelve, I still felt ten, and when I was sixteen, I still felt twelve. Yet, something happened last April when I celebrated my seventeenth year upon this oh so motherly Earth and I finally felt my age. I sort of feel like who I am today is the same person I will be in ten, twenty, thirty, forty or fifty years. I am not as mature or as knowledgeable as that of a thirty or forty year old and I know that I have a lot more to experience and learn, but I am perfectly content with the age that I am. I get teary eyed even at the thought of being separated from my best friends next year when we go to separate colleges. I love bringing my lunch in a brown bag to school everyday and look forward to having dinner with my family every night. I secretly love when my parents make sure I am not late for curfew, or how I still have to have a parent signature on most forms. I am old enough to know the realities of life, but young enough to still get caught in day dreams. Unfortunately, my birthday is slowly approaching, and time marches on.