To every season there is a reason. (Turn! Turn! Turn!)

   Every season that passes I feel a new and different set of emotions.  Not really new, except new to me every year, and not really different except different than the other seasonal moods.  Like anyone else, summer brings to me warm sunny feelings:  the smell of sunscreen, the sweet sting of poolwater in the eyes, the happy munching of scores of hotdogs….summer truly is the best season.  As the days get shorter, so does my contentness.  Fall brings school, a whole other year of books, learning, grades.  Where everything revolves around statistics.  We aren’t even named, for Crissake.  I for one, am 131771.  They should just brand that into my forearm, shave my head, and lead me to the gas chambers.  With my seasonal happiness, even the trees die; turning from lovely symbols of beauty to dead skeletons with gnarled branches reaching out to steal little children.  If I can get through fall, winter shuffles in, bringing the bitter Montana cold and negative temperatures only our wind chill can provide.  I’m one of those people wearing my shorts into winter, praying that it will stay warm for just one more week.  Winter brings with it a lethargy:  it’s too early to think of spring fun and too late to think of summer bliss.  I think if we didn’t have Christmas, America would hibernate.  And yet, if we can get through that blinding white boredom, at last! Spring arrives in all its glory!  The trees grow once more, the flowers bloom, the windy breeze turns warm…yes!  Spring is a time for hope and optimism.  We all know that what we really want–summer–is just around the corner and if we can somehow survive school, it’s rich pleasures will belong to us.  That’s how I feel right now.  And yet, something’s wrong.
   I have that sense in me that this summer is going to be one of huge changes.  I already know I’m getting a job, a car, all those grown-up amenities that I, as Peter Pan, want nothing to do with.  Sure a job will be great, get lotsa money, etc.  But once you start, you don’t stop til you’re fifty-five.  And I’m too young to think about fifty-five.  The simple truth is, I don’t wanna grow up.  I wanna stay right at this age.  Caught wonderfully in the awkwardness of being a teenager.  I hear a lot about people reminiscing about their teenage years…what it felt like to have that rush and know you can conquer the world.  We only have two more years to have that feeling, guys.  So I guess my main question to you, to which my answer is an emphatic no, are you ready for it all to end?


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