She said, "What are you talking about?" He said, "You."

So. I'm going to share my photo narrative from English with all of you. It's kind of long. But hey, no one is making you read it.  But just so you know, the picture is of me 5 years old, adorable as heck, sleeping on a chair with my hair up and my dance outfit, tights, and shoes still on. I'll try uploading it later. But for now, enjoy this picture of an oversized Tuna Fish.

Little kids resist all forms of responsibility. It’s just a fact of life. As I fell asleep in my dance costume, not even in my own fluffed bed, all I attempted to do was resist the command to get some rest. I still had my mounds of make-up on, my hair was still done up, and my scratchy outfit still clung to my little body as I darted around the living room. My parents’ direction to go to bed was purely for my benefit, so I could be healthy. But as an infant I assumed they just wanted to ruin my fun. So I danced and I pranced until I collapsed and wiped out on the couch. With a careful snap of a photo lense, my mother was able to capture my disobedience with unwavering evidence. The Image shows my bow was tied neatly to my hair as it complimented my tights that laid as perfectly placed as when I had first slipped them on, proving I’d made no attempt to remove them and change into sleepwear. The tap shoes on my feet were still laced to aptness and my ballet slippers had failed to find their way back into the closet, and instead harbored in between my legs. My hand pressed against my face showed the battle that was fought over my defiance to cooperate, which resulted in the stubborn sleep on the family’s famous-for-being-lumpy chair. I was a typical five-year-old who just wanted freedom. I wanted the rules to change to suit my liking better. It’s amazing how life has moved on, tables have turned, and now I miss the rules I once had.

                        Even in the potty training days I was a devious child. I distinctly remember the rule in my home that if I went to the bathroom on the toilet I would get a fresh candy bar. I’d waddle into the tight square room and dance around for thirty seconds or so, until I felt time was up. Then I’d execute my plan. I would send the unbothered toilet water off to join the neighbors recently deceased fish. I’d scrub my hands clean, and stretch on tiptoes to open the door; my mother would be standing there waiting, so proud, with a Twix in hand.

            As I grew older I continued to bend rules. I’d fake a few sicknesses to get a day out of school, bring a flashlight into my room to avoid punctual bedtime, and climb on the counter to get to the highest shelf that contained my favorite afternoon snack: pure sugar.

            While I was a child who snuck around systems of order, I’ve learned much more since then. As a 3.9 G.P.A. student, an athlete, and a dancer, excess sugar has become repulsive to me, swimming the Atlantic would be simpler than missing a day of school, and I’d trade a lunch with the Prime Minister of England for a good afternoon of sleep. What I didn’t know when I was that five-year –old girl in the picture was how much I’d miss the things I fought against. At that moment all I wanted was to decide my own rules. Once I had more freedom and the power to do just that, I longed for the days where these rules were the only problems my life seemed to have. As the years go on I’ve begun to miss the things I once viewed as punishment. My perspective has changed with my age and my need for certain things has along with it. It makes me wonder if in twenty years I’ll enjoy cleaning the toilet.