Growing up isn’t as easy as it seems

There are certain moments, passing periods really, when you realize you are growing up. I’m not talking about those growth spurts you have when your muscles start aching. I’m talking about those moments where you step back from your life for just one split second and you realize you are now an adult.

Maybe it’s that first year you get to sit at the “adult table” for Christmas dinner.

Or when you run into an old family friend you haven’t seen in years.

Or when your sibling gets in trouble at school while your parents are out of town and you have to maturely deal with the situation (when all you really want to do is strangle them…OK, maybe this one’s just me.)

You know that Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and all their good friends are fictional. And you know that you are no longer a kid. You have to make those grown up decisions all by yourself; your parents are no longer going to tell you what the right and wrong answers are, even when you know the one they’re rooting for.

This weekend seemed like one of those moments.

As a senior, everything I have done this year has been “my last;” my last home football game that I actually attended even though it was freezing cold and pouring down rain. And my last rush week. And my last first day of school this past spring semester. The thing is, I know I’m not the only one, so all you seniors can just stop rolling your eyes because I know you’re getting a little misty.

For the past four years, I have been going to Amarillo with my best friend for Easter weekend. Her parents have graciously taken me into their family and made me their own; apparently, Easter weekend is just not worth me flying home to see my family.

It was in that first year when I realized I had, in fact, not grown up, as my friend, her brother and myself participated in an all-out brawl of an Easter egg hunt. While I anticipated candy in the eggs (as most families do), the three of us opened the plastic eggs to find cash (which of course was only a surprise to me). The joy of finding eggs and opening their surprises was something I hadn’t experienced since I wore patented leather shoes with white tights to the Easter service.

After four years, we developed plots of getting back at her brother, like putting pennies in his side of the yard’s eggs or this year’s trick of loading his eggs up with pesos. It was only when backing up the driveway and saying goodbye that I realized I don’t get to do this again. I’m growing up and there’s not really anything I can do about it. Sure, I could fail my classes this semester and drag out the graduation process another year, but that would only get my parents to fully disown me.

See, when you’re young, these holidays are a reflection of our innocence and naivety to the world. We do not realize that our parents will no longer wake up at the crack of dawn to hide eggs around the house for those five minutes of joy.

It is only after these moments pass when we realize that growing up may not be all that bad. After all, finding money in your egg is certainly a better surprise than some half-melted jellybeans.