Hold On a Little Tighter to Little

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to overalls and lemonade stands.

Tuesday afternoon sunshine falling through tangled branches onto skinned knees.

I wish someone had taken my hand when I split my gums after sailing off the swings into a flowerbed and told me that it would be one of the less significant pains I would find.

I wish someone had told me that stealing the neighbors Pokémon cards would come back around once eighteen hit and girls liked the look of boys better.

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to freezies and razor scooters.

When I didn’t know that hamster funerals under our crabapple tree would eventually evolve into saying goodbye for the last time to the sound of church bells.

I wish someone had warned me that headgear wasn’t the worst thing someone could make fun of me for.

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to Friday nights searching the aisles of the local video store.

Because now I know that hangovers hold nothing over Goosebumps.

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to using Tic Tac containers as lighters and make believe.

Back when I could be anything I wanted regardless of gender or GPA.

Back when being an astronaut meant adventure rather than a fear of heights.

I wish someone had told me to hold on to monsters under the bed.

Before I realized that Mom couldn’t protect me from everything.

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to blanket forts and staying up late to tell ghost stories by flashlight.

When the threat of the coming workday didn’t overshadow being carefree.

I wish someone had told me to stop wishing for adulthood.

That with a drivers license comes tickets and freedom brings with it responsibility.

I wish someone had told me that being told that someone doesn’t want to be your friend any more is much better than just being left behind without warning.

That KD and Pizza eventually become a source of guilt.

That the more money you have in your piggybank, the more anxiety you’ll have about it.

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to the feeling of being chosen last to dance, because maybe it would have prepared me for the adult equivalent.

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to innocence.

When sticks and stones were met with forgiveness.

When the worst thing people could do to one another was break a pinky promise.

I wish someone had told me to hold on a little tighter to little.

When things were as simple as overalls and lemonade stands.

Tuesday afternoon sunshine falling through tangled branches onto skinned knees.