Golden Eggs

Don't you love those times and experiences that really make you feel good about yourself? The kind that you're almost nervous for, but the outcome ends up being so much better than you could have expected. A competition of some sort, a performance, receiving an A on a paper you thought was crap? I had one of those times today.

I was thrilled when Mrs. Innes - my high school English teacher - asked me to share some of my writing with her AP Language and Composition class. Not only was that my favorite class I ever took in high school, but I was also thrilled to have an opportunity to share some of my writing with an audience, especially and audience of teenagers.

I always felt that being a teenager was such a horrible time. I loathed it. But now, I am intrigued by those people who are right in the middle of it. They have no idea that their passion and angst is at an all time high, and all that extra emotion and energy is so precious and valuable. Some of my best pieces of work came from being a depressed, confused and pissed off sixteen-year-old who had no idea who she was or what she wanted. I am obsessed with the sixteen-year-old me, and I continue to obsess over her because slowly, she is fading. Every day I lose a little bit more of her, because her young, wild and overly emotional mind is becoming nothing but a distant memory to me. I yearn for the creativity I pulled from the countless number of heartbreaks I endured during high school. Not just from relationships either, but from being a failure, growing up and feeling so awfully misunderstood. I don't miss feeling that way, but I miss the art that came from it all.

When I walked into the classroom, I was actually surprised at who was sitting in there, because the last time I saw all these people, they were Freshmen. I had a time-warp moment, and sort of felt old, in turn feeling a bit embarrassed for being back at Profile. I felt juvenile; a student again, feeling guilty for being three minutes late. There was also this sense of judgement radiating from everyone's eyes, and I don't mean that in a negative way. But I could see the gears in their head turning, studying me, another body who used to be one of them who was now a foreign stranger; an adult.

I made an effort to not only look at but truly see all of them. They almost all looked the same, but then again so do I. What shocked me was when they opened their mouths. I was so surprised and impressed by the intelligence each one of them displayed. I respected all their thoughts and suggestions, and smiled at their abilities to articulate the things they were saying. I left the school feeling that I gained more than I shared, but also feeling an urge to kick myself in the face for ever underestimating that they'd give me anything short of amazing feedback.

And suddenly, with force, it hit me.

I was them, once upon a time. I had the baby-faced persona with the beyond-my-years knowledge about writing, and I hated people who underestimated that, and who underestimated me; I still do. I am young, but they are even younger, and I feel like the childish one for ever doubting the intelligence they all possess. How could I suddenly stand on the other side of this invisible line that divides childhood with adulthood? How, and when did I cross over to here? At some point I must have passed through the gate, where they hand you a credit card and a book of sudden-onset rights that come along with adulthood, such as the right to pass judgement onto the younger species.

I'll keep the credit card, but they can have the book back.

It was a pleasure to share with the AP class today. I am thankful they were so kind, and so open to sharing their thoughts. I would hope that they didn't see my surprise by everything they had to say, but I'm sure they probably did. Because I know that adults are paper thin, and I always saw right through them too. They are transparent silhouettes with a sense of entitlement.

Not all, but some.

And now, I am one. I am as see through as the next, but I hope to be one of the few good ones. I understand what it feels like to not be taken seriously because you don't have a high school diploma or a college diploma. I hope to be better than those who took one look at me and never bothered to glance back at the young and even younger-looking female, who wasn't worth their time. But, I was worth it, and I still am, just like all the young people in the classroom today.

I have faith that I will be one of the few eggs made of gold, among the rotten and spoiled rest of them. I can allow myself to believe that, because I understand how it feels to be on the other side of the invisible line; I still remember. And I have a feeling that the entirety of the class I shared with today, are going to suddenly pass through the gate of adulthood and be golden eggs too. I know it, because I was them once, and part of me still is. As much as she fades, and drifts, I hold onto her. I refuse to forget, because once I forget, I will suddenly become what I have always resented.

I saw so much of myself in their eyes today, which allows me to know that they aren't going to rot, and they aren't going to spoil. They will keep shining, glittering, and sparkling. They will stay golden. I know they will hold onto who they were in that classroom today, and become what our society needs.

We need the gold; solid, shiny, beautiful gold. Because honestly, I am tired of looking through the soulless people; the transparency of what they have become, with nothing left to show of who they once were.

If any of you from the AP class are reading this, thank you. I learned lessons today that I doubt I would have ever encountered anywhere else. It was truly a treat to share with you all, although, I think I learned more than I taught. I am grateful for days like today.