This didn't really turn out as I planned...

"I was eight, and grown." -I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

That was really the moment that made me realize it.

Because before, I hadn't quite given any thought to her age. Or maybe I had, but when Maya Angelou put it in words like that- in such a simple and direct sentence- that was what really made me step back and acknowledge that yes, she was eight. An eight year old was actually having to go through this. She was grown. Already. She had to be grown. She was forced into being grown. But, she was only eight.

Maybe it was never mentioned, or maybe I never noticed it, or maybe I simply blocked her age out of my mind because I didn't want to think about it. Because it was just too painful a thing, given the circumstances. Maybe I'd assumed that she was older because everyone else's characters were. Lily from The Secret Life Of Bees was 14 when she starts her coming of age journey, Melinda from Speak is 15, and Holden from The Catcher in the Rye is 16. It's just not fair that she has to be eight. But she is, and I overlooked it. And now here it was, staring me in the face.

When I was eight, I was happy. I was running in the backyard and imagining all it could be if I squinted hard enough. Eight years old was dancing in my kitchen or daydreaming on the couch because there was really nothing else for me to worry about doing. Eight years old was simple and easy and safe. I never imagined the kind of troubles that Maya had to go through, much less faced them myself. I couldn't even fathom a world in which someone my age was scared about money or new clothes. A world in which I would be worried about my parents not loving me or my grandma hitting me or anyone sending me off to live with someone else. I could not imagine a world of constant fear, of hiding- even at home. Of lying to my brother or keeping secrets that I wanted so desperately to tell. A world that had no safety, even for little eight year olds. Maya's world.

It hurts me so much that Maya never got those moments of little-girl giddiness or freedom. Maya never got to run in the backyard screaming with glee and have no chiding for it. She never got to sing too loudly or hit too hard or jump too high or make any mistake- she never got to be a kid, because when she was eight, she was already grown. And that breaks my heart.

Now, I'm fourteen.

I can make my own plans and do my my own homework and tie my own shoes. I can ride the subway by myself, and next year, I'll be doing it every single day 2 times a day. But, I'm not grown. I'm definately closer than before, and though it seems like I know everything there is to know and have grown up as much as is possible, I don't think I have. I'm not grown, and I won't be for a while.

I have fights with my mom over feelings and arguments with my dad over opinions. Because, finally, I have my own opinions. I've gone through all the typical events that mark me going from a girl to a woman. I'm growing up- who knows how fast or slow or when it will be over but, I'm not grown, I don't think.

And if I am, I don't know it. I don't know it because I never had a moment that said in no uncertain terms that I was done growing. I never had one single event that determined the end of my childhood. Maybe I will have that moment, maybe it's still to come in my future. And, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll ease into adulthood, grow slowly. Maybe I already have, too slow to notice.

But as I watched Maya standing in court in front of her family and in front of the man that took away her childhood in her very own home, I knew that she was right- she was grown. She was terrified and confused and far from ready to be an adult. But, she had to- ready or not- she was grown. And if there was anything more painful than that, it was watching her realize it.