Memories

The picture suddenly resurfaced in my top desk drawer at work the other day and I was immediatley transported back to that summer day 8 years ago.

The picture was of my then 4-year-old niece riding the kiddie bumper cars at a local amusement park. She had a smile on her lips, and a look of deep focus in her eyes -- much as she did that entire day at the park.

It was her first venture to the park where she could actually ride the rides by herself, without an adult hovering over her and having to sit next to her on every single ride and she was loving it. And she was just so happy. So happy in fact, that her happiness from that day still oozes out of the photos we took and makes me smile any time I come across one of them.

The picture, almost forgotten, is now taped to the wall of my office. And every time I so much as glance at it, I smile; and then almost as quickly, have to stop myself from crying.

My niece is now 12. A pre-teen and getting the attitude, moodiness and rebelliousness of the typical American pre-teen. She's not that sweet smiling 4-year-old riding the bumper cars anymore and in a way, that makes me sad.

I miss that 4-year-old who thought that every day held endless happiness and promise, and who thought every adult in her life was cool. The girl who could be made to smile and laugh by the simplest things -- 10 extra minutes in the sandbox, a blue popsicle, 2 rides in a row on the bumper cars all by herself.

These thoughts give me a whole new perspective on parents. And how tough it is not only to raise their kids, but to watch them grow up and morph from pudgy, bouncing babies to toddlers to children and then finally, the pre-teen and teen years -- springboards to adulthood. If I can get choked up by just thinking about my niece growing up, how hard must it be for my brother and sister-in-law?

Sure, its very cool watching her grow and learn and develop into her own person and I do appreciate my niece just as much as a pre-teen as I did when she was 4, or 2, or 8.

But I can't deny the part of me that wishes I could reach into that photo and pull the cute little 4-year-old in the pink shorts set out -- for just a little while -- and play with her in her sandbox for 10 extra minutes and give her a blue popsicle, before letting her slip back into the past.