On the busy street of life, I rush swiftly forward, propelled by the heavy flow of expectations. The green light is always on, yet sometimes there are traffic jams. During those times, I am a child.I value the chance to play with Legos, to eat cookies and milk for dinner, to sleep with a huge load of stuffed animals on my bed. I still read the back of cereal boxes and Magic Tree House books on weekends. Does it matter that I can finish a book in six minutes? At night, when lights are off, I will not sleep with the closet door opened or my arm off the bed fearing a monster will eat my arm. I play with Neopets; I go on swings; I admire my collection of Pokémon cards. I watch Digimon so much that I can write the script out from memory of all 155 episodes. I decorate bedroom with pink walls, a pink bed, and a bookcase in which half of the books are below the third grade reading level. I like to grab all the left over balloons from birthday parties and order birthday cakes whenever I can find an excuse to buy one. In the showers, I sing; I sing loud; I sing Disney.I cherish these brief moments. I value the few occasions I have to stop my rush and be a child. I treasure the times when the yellow light turns on or traffic jams occur to slow my pace. But, even when there are no road blocks to hinder my progression, I still do these childish activities because I am still a child at heart.
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