Forgotten with Conscious Memory

It is sad to think of the things forgotten with age that are in no way related to actual memory loss. As people grow older, the issues that are focused on only serve to cause stress and anxiety, and the little things that used to mean so much are lost in the chaos. What ever happened to the innocent beauty of childhood, where instead of needing a reason to smile, there needed to be a reason to frown? It is possible they are simply overwhelmed by the trials that must be faced, and can eventually only be found in memories. However, if the opportunity were given to revisit this time in our lives, it would surely be taken. If I could be any age, I would be nine years old, a time in one’s life when academic, social, and personal aspects all meet in one small segment, marking the transition from childhood to young-adulthood.
Looking back, there was a time when school was considered fun. This is not to say that surprise snow days and holiday vacations weren’t still greatly appreciated and celebrated, but waking up to feel pride in the selection of one’s clothing was like nothing else, even though those ensembles rarely matched. School was a place to which one was sent to learn, and with each new fact and scrap of knowledge retained came a tiny thrill of which there is no equivalent. Somewhere along the road of textbooks and lectures that thrill began to shrink. In third grade, any incomplete homework did not bring dire consequences, and kids were taught in order to be educated, not just to pass solitary tests that may determine entire futures, or at the very least, hold too great an influence. Nobody sat and judged a hand that was raised with the wrong answer. School became the social capital of the world, inspiring entertainment, friendships, and life lessons to be learned.
At the age of nine, social pressures seemed nonexistent. Nowhere on the swing sets could be found huddles of cliques. Appearances were not a factor in granting access to the slides. Playing tag didn’t merit a debate on which child discriminated another. None of those problems existed to the nine-year-old mind, and all lived in a blissful state of equality where everybody was friends, because even if one managed to acquire a nemesis, there was a tendency for it to be forgotten by recess. This world, where not a single person was concerned with failing or looking incompetent, was a simple one. This world, where judgmental opinions extended only to which flavor of ice cream tasted the best, was a happy one.
Throughout childhood, it is accepted that one’s whole life lies ahead of them. Perhaps this disinclination to be preoccupied with the “what if’s?” of the past and future contributes to making childhood seem grand. Yet, at the time, growing up and achieving independence seems like the best thing ever. So, there one stands, at the bottom of the staircase to adolescence, clinging to youth, but striving to become older and wiser, oblivious to their possession of the best of both worlds. Too young to worry about the complications of adulthood, yet just old enough to grasp the pleasant side of maturing, life is then balanced in a blessed medium. The ability to make full use of playgrounds and Popsicles is not deterred by developing crushes and receiving one’s first makeup compact. There is a drive, an ambition, an innate sense of adventure within each young soul that affords so much potential.
It is a shame that this realm of simplicity and naiveté dissipates from those daily lives with coming age. Lost to adulthood is the care-free energy and simple joys, the bountiful smiles and general comradeship. I miss dancing in the rain, listening to boy-band music, giggling emphatically, and that zeal to conquer the world one Barbie at a time. At age nine, there existed a utopia of academic, social, and personal aspects that created a middle-ground between childhood and adolescence, thus this is the age I would want to be.