When you're five years old ... you one day decide that you can put on your own shoes and you won't let your mother help you.
When you're eight years old ... you one day decide that you can ride your bike on your own and you won't let your mother help you.
When you're ten years old ... you one day decide that you can choose your own clothes and you won't let your mother help you.
When you're twelve years old ... you one day decide that you can make your own breakfast and you won't let your mother help you.
When you're thirteen years old ... you one day decide that you can decorate your own room and you plaster posters on the walls and you won't let you mother help you.
When you're fifteen years old ... you one day decide that you can shop at the mall for your own clothes and you won't let your mother help you.
When you're seventeen years old you can ...
Put on your shoes by yourself.
Drive yourself to school, to parties, to the mall and and to your friends' houses.
Pick out your own clothes and cool outfits.
Make yourself breakfast and lunch and dinner and pick up chili-cheese-fries and a Route 44 cherry lime-aide from Sonic all by yourself and anytime you want.
Put posters and pictures of your friends and art you created and any crap you want on your walls and ceilings and behind the door of your room.
You can hang out at the mall and spend countless hours wasting time and spending far too much of you parents' money.
But ...
When your dad one day asks ...
"Courtney - can you pick me up some charcoal on your way home from Starbucks?"
You will likely say ...
"I don't know where to buy charcoal," and shoot your father the most innocent of childish grins.
"At the 7-11. You can pick me up some charcoal at the 7-11," your father will say nicely.
Then, you will likely say ...
"I don't know how to buy charcoal," and shoot your father the most innocent of childish grins.
"You just pick up the bag, walk up to the check-out counter and pay the guy," your father will advise.
Then, you will likely say ...
"Don't you have to be like 18 or something to buy charcoal?" and flash your father the most ridiculously confused smile.
"Uh - no," your father will respond.
Then, you will likely say ...
"But ... there are those things that kids aren't allowed to buy. Isn't charcoal like one of those things kids can't buy unless they're like 18 years old or something?" and flash your father the fakest confused smile you can conjure up.
"Uh - no," your father will respond. "It's charcoal, Courtney," he will say, a confused look riddling his fatherly face. "Charcoal. You do know what charcoal is?"
Then, you will likely say ...
"Uh - no."
On the upside ... *sigh*
*Note: The second picture of an innocent Courtney is a charcoal self-portrait done by Courtney.
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