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Growing Up
By Allyson, a high school senior
July 28, 2008
You can tell how old a tree is by the number of layers its trunk contains. Seen from the exterior, thicker trunks and branches are usually indicative of an older tree. A new layer is added each year, and this addition increases the diameter of a tree's trunks and branches as time progresses. These layers are what mark the age of a tree.
As we age, layers of an inconspicuous type are added to ourselves. They are layers molded by experience, seen not through our bodies (although some people certainly do increase in diameter as they age), but through our actions and our reactions. The youth, like a young tree, will not have as many of these layers as the weathered elderly man who admonishes the youth from afar, tipping his branches to indicate his disapproval.
Like a young tree transplanted in the midst of a bustling city, I, too, am only just finding out where my branches will reach...or rather, where they could reach. I'm in another transition in my life. This summer is sandwiched between what is the last year of my childhood and what is to be the first year of adulthood.
Looking back, how would the layers of childhood appear in me?
The first few inner layers, supple and sweet, would be marked by bliss and imagination. True to the cliche, ignorance truly is bliss; at five, it wasn't as if I worried about college applications or relationship drama, I didn't know about such issues. There were only two things that captivated my anxieties: playtime (that boy keeps making fun of me...) and sleep (dad, the darkness scares me...are there monsters beyond the closet door?).
The succeeding layers are those mired with shame, pain of both a physical and emotional nature, but most of all, strength. Like a young tree, my defenses and my strength have only increased as time has progressed. I'm more proactive than I was at say, eight years old, and rather than depending on my parents to see the monsters, I would venture into there myself to seek the mysteries that lie beyond. Insults that would have driven me to tears years before no longer have as much an impact as they once did. I think that's what's changed in me most; like a young tree, my bark has been strengthened by experience.
Looking forward, what must I anticipate in the years ahead?
July 28, 2008
You can tell how old a tree is by the number of layers its trunk contains. Seen from the exterior, thicker trunks and branches are usually indicative of an older tree. A new layer is added each year, and this addition increases the diameter of a tree's trunks and branches as time progresses. These layers are what mark the age of a tree.
As we age, layers of an inconspicuous type are added to ourselves. They are layers molded by experience, seen not through our bodies (although some people certainly do increase in diameter as they age), but through our actions and our reactions. The youth, like a young tree, will not have as many of these layers as the weathered elderly man who admonishes the youth from afar, tipping his branches to indicate his disapproval.
Like a young tree transplanted in the midst of a bustling city, I, too, am only just finding out where my branches will reach...or rather, where they could reach. I'm in another transition in my life. This summer is sandwiched between what is the last year of my childhood and what is to be the first year of adulthood.
Looking back, how would the layers of childhood appear in me?
The first few inner layers, supple and sweet, would be marked by bliss and imagination. True to the cliche, ignorance truly is bliss; at five, it wasn't as if I worried about college applications or relationship drama, I didn't know about such issues. There were only two things that captivated my anxieties: playtime (that boy keeps making fun of me...) and sleep (dad, the darkness scares me...are there monsters beyond the closet door?).
The succeeding layers are those mired with shame, pain of both a physical and emotional nature, but most of all, strength. Like a young tree, my defenses and my strength have only increased as time has progressed. I'm more proactive than I was at say, eight years old, and rather than depending on my parents to see the monsters, I would venture into there myself to seek the mysteries that lie beyond. Insults that would have driven me to tears years before no longer have as much an impact as they once did. I think that's what's changed in me most; like a young tree, my bark has been strengthened by experience.
Looking forward, what must I anticipate in the years ahead?
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