ADYNATON

            It’s funny how some of the most insignificant things can become the things that influence what makes you. Those times where you think, “I’ll forget in time,” but you never do. It sticks with you, and the very reason why it sticks with you doesn’t really become clear until you’re older and you forget the mindset you had back when you had it and you’re only left questioning yourself. It only goes to show the truth of the phrase “with age comes wisdom.” I never really believed in it until recently.

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            I was going through some of my old stuff, and I came across some of the first poems I had written in Creative Writing. I remember the feeling I had when I was writing it. I thought that I understood everything that all the adults told me and that I was wise beyond my years. Somehow this led me to to me believe that I had achieved the Nirvana that allowed me to write well, and it was reflected in my writing as well. I can compare my current thoughts to back then, and reading it felt like I still had this hope, or ignorance, that everything was going to be okay, and all I had to do was go with the flow. Thinking like that always gave me an excuse to complain. That’s what the first 50 diary entries I had consisted of. I just complained about things that ruined my ideal perfect day. Reflecting on it, it probably wasn’t hope or ignorance, but this bliss I had achieved from not having the knowledge I would gain over time, and the lack of any awareness of that knowledge. Reading the entries made me wonder, “If I had gained this much wisdom from my experiences from one year, then how much have I actually changed?”

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            The only reason I was able to notice the change I’m going through is because I wrote in the diary. If I didn’t have the diary, then when would I have noticed all of this? I’ve already realized that a large majority of the proof of who I was in my younger days was lost, because I always deemed all the writing I did unimportant, and thought I wouldn’t be affected at all if I tossed it in the trash. Without all that I wrote, all I can do now is think of the days when I was on the playground and how fogged my brain was. What I like to think is that fogginess I feel looking back is actually the development of my brain and how it grows as I shove more and more new information into it, like putting Play-doh into a big rubber balloon. I always used to think that everything that already existed was boring. Now, it feels like I’m tearing open this thin veneer that used to stand between me and the world; now I can see the real world, and it’s incredible.

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            It’s kind of like when you don’t like mushrooms as a kid, and absolutely deny any possibility of ever eating them at all until your wife cooks it for dinner and you have no choice but to shut up and eat. Of course, you realize how good they actually are and wonder why you didn’t like them as a kid. Sure, you might remember the reason why you didn’t like them, but you don’t remember the sensation you felt when you saw it on your dinner plate. The only thought that occupies your mind now is, “Why didn’t I just suck it up and eat it?"

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            One of the other things I realized as I grew up was that the world wasn’t as peaceful as I thought it was. Being raised in a small place in a small neighborhood where I knew everybody, I assumed that the rest of the world was like that (why such a small world?). My first encounter with this came in the form of RayVon, a really friggin’ tall kid I knew back in fifth grade. He would always pick fights and no one really liked him. One day, after he kept calling one of my friends “Melonhead,” I got fed up and called him Chocolate. Honestly, I don’t know why I said Chocolate, but I do know that I didn’t think I was being rude or anything. However, as soon as I said that, he got even angrier and kept calling me racist. That taught me racism, as I was called down to the guidance counselor to resolve the issue, where they explained it to me. After that, we were actually pretty good friends until he got held back and expelled for punching the teacher in the face.

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            It got even worse as I went through middle school. Now that I could understand what the problems of the world were, they just kept stacking and stacking. Sooner or later, I built this sort of wall against these. I just couldn’t handle the idea of people actually living unhappy lives, since I knew what unhappiness felt like and I couldn’t imagine having to live with that feeling for my entire life. It also taught me where “bad people” came from. Ever since then, my views of the world kind of centered upon that way of thinking; even today I believe that there is a fine balance between law and rights, and that the  law must hold the power, as only the law has the power to change life for people. For the better. It might seem immature, but the greatest inventors are the most childish inventors.

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            I know I was blessed with an incredible life and an incredible family who encourage me to take risks and have an open mind. I don’t need to be told by others that I’m rich, or that I don’t have problems, because I know. I’m reminded of it every time I roll past a poor neighborhood or park next to my friends in the parking lot. It’s not like I’m ignorant. I know I have a lot more than others, but does that make me evil? Am I seen as the cause for suffering of others simply because I was born with hardworking parents? And why do they think they have the rights to call my parents “rich?” It’s not like we always lived in a nice house. Once, we lived in a crappy little townhouse on a constantly flooding air force base. They worked with what they had, and grasped success with their own two hands, which gave me proof as a kid that all the excuses that people give aren’t valid; they just don’t have the want or will to live a better life.

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            Or do they? Check back with me in ten years…