One Blanket Realization

Growing up doesn’t happen to you all at once.

Changes happen all the time,

But not the big ones,

The important ones.

Those, you only get in moments.

You collect them,

Like a quilter would collect their blocks of fabric.

You get one

When you get your first best friend,

A stuffed green rabbit that you’ll sleep with for the next

18 years, whose tail you’ll rub when you get worried.

When you learn to swing.

When you fall off the swing, and cut your cheek.

When you walk into Kindergarten all by yourself,

Look at you go!

When you get a part in your third grade play.

When you get your first dog.

When you get your braces on,

And a few years later,

When you get them off.

When you find your first locker in freshman year.

When you go on your first date.

Later, when your first date is your first prom date,

But just as friends, because it’s better that way.

When you take your drivers test.

When you take your drivers test again and pass.

When you hold your diploma.

When you hold your degree.

When you hold the hand of the person who

You hope will be your last date.

Over and over you collect these moments,

These blocks that you’ll keep safely in a

Little box that only you get to see.

What doesn’t happen over time

Is realizing you’ve grown up.

It’s a realization that comes at you all at once,

Crushing and consuming and panic inducing.

You’ll look into the mirror

And see the roundness gone from your face,

Still with that scar on your cheek.

You’ll get up to show your mom something

That reminded you of her,

Only to remember you’ve lived

In your own apartment for over a year.

You’re not a child anymore.

But don’t panic.

You’ve gotten this far.

Just go get your green rabbit

Whose tail is now bare from years of comforting.

Look into the closet and dust off that old

Box of blocks you keep tucked away there,

And make yourself a quilt.

Sit under it and be warmed by your moments,

Knowing they’ll always be your moments,

And you’ll always make more.