Teenagers

I think I was six years old when you first helped me with math problems. Gosh you looked amazing, and cool– a concept lost one me yet still so enchanting. I wanted to be just like you, wear jeans and be tall sporting that sweater striped in different colors right around the chest. And the Chuck Taylors, even though I had no clue that’s what they called those roughed up, suave things.

Thinking back on it now, and you probably weren’t in high school. Your name was Jack, I think, and you still humored me about how I couldn’t wait to be a teen. But as a teacher’s aid in college back then– and now in your forties, we can come to the agreement that neither of us would ever want to be in high school again.

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