When I was younger, a kid if you will, I was stupid. There, I said it. I didn’t do many of the huge stupid things kids do; I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t drink, I didn’t sleep with the football team. In that regard I was pretty tame and boring. My stupidity was more subtle, like a poke in the face instead of a punch.
In my later high school years, I tried to be goth-ish. I listened to Marilyn Manson. I wore dark eyeliner and pouted a lot. I painted all my bedroom furniture black. Any article of clothing I owned with color was discarded. Even in the scorching days of summer, I was that person you’d see sulking about like a head to toe shadow. It was a sweltering existence. My parents let me be whatever I wanted to be, although I’m sure there was an eyeroll or a thousand passed along. Because kids are stupid.
It didn’t take long to snap me out of it.
Recently, when we were driving back from running errands during the peak part of a million degree day, I witnessed the me that I used to be 14 years prior. Even in the middle of a heat warning, this kid was a summer sun sponge in heavy black. If I was uncomfortable in the regulation mom attire I was wearing, this kid had to be on fire.
“Stupid kids”, I found myself thinking with an eyeroll.
To which I then gave myself an eyeroll, because oh heavenly crackers, my age is showing. But at least I’m not (as) stupid.