Like many who tackle the university scene, the day you receive your cap and gown from your college admissions’ department is a day you likely had been working hard toward for what felt like decades, even if it was only four years. That day’s excitement is soon replaced with the exhilarating feeling of walking across a stage in front of hundreds of people in that same cap and gown, praying the whole way that you don’t trip before making it to the president who will hand you your hard-earned diploma. Tripping after the acceptance is more acceptable, of course, because people’s attention are already on the person behind you.
And then you step down from the stage, and the excitement turns into wonder. “How did it fly by like this?” You ask yourself as you stand and pose for a picture with what you’ve just now realized is an empty booklet with no diploma in it. “What am I going to do with my life?” comes at a later time after the adrenaline has died down, after the grandparents leave, and after the gifts are opened and set aside.
I remember the day I learned to ride my bike, officially, with no training wheels. My dad half-jogged beside my bicycle as I steadied myself, and I remember him letting go, and I remember not crashing. They say “it’s like riding a bike” for a reason because, really, I don’t remember the feeling of not being able to ride a bicycle anymore. It’s a piece of me now.
The first time I lost my tooth was much too early for me to be able to remember. I’m sure if I asked my mom, she could probably tell me the exact time, date, and place that I lost it. But I do remember having to get a baby tooth extracted. I asked my parents in one way or another if the tooth fairy would still come since this tooth didn’t just fall out like the others. I was reassured and stuck the tooth in that special blue box that the dentist gave me underneath my pillow before falling asleep that night. The next morning, I woke up with the dollar bills instead of measly pocket change under my head. Mom said it was something about how these teeth are worth more, but I was just happy the tooth fairy decided to trade in silver for some Washingtons.
These milestone moments are something I felt were important to me, along with getting my first job or buying my first car. Walking, running, laughing, talking, all those things, too, even though I don’t remember when I first did them. My first gymnastics meet, my first dance recital, my first car wreck, my first phone, my first fall off a horse, my first time eating a fried Oreo at a fair—all big moments in my life.
Just recently, I learned that supposedly you can’t work technology in your dreams. I don’t think I’ve ever used technology in my dreams, and of course Reddit had too many answers for me to really come to a good conclusion about the whole theory. But that thought tickled my brain for hours and has on and off for days still.
When was the last time I felt this wonderment?
I have no siblings, but I have a best friend who is like a sister, and her baby is my honorary nephew. Whenever possible, I try to visit them both so that I can see him before he’s off to college (he’s five months old, but I know they grow fast). I also quite enjoy his mother’s company because she’s one of the only people on this earth who will eat cookie cake for breakfast with me and neither of us feel ashamed. His father, too, is pretty great. He makes a killer cornbread sloppy joe concoction. (I know, you’re thinking, “Grace, you can’t be that hungry to eat that, right?” But seriously, this is one of those situations where you can’t knock it before you try it.)
As I sat on the floor with Baby Nephew the other day, I opened my favorite Dr. Seuss book Go, Dog. Go! and read to him. After I said, “The green dog is up. The yellow dog is down,” in two totally different tones of voice, I realized that there is something about babies that just make you go plum crazy. Only for this tiny human being who does not even know why his gums hurt all the time would I read, “Big dogs, little dogs, red dogs, blue dogs,” in a high-pitched voice much too excitedly.
I looked over at him while we were both getting our tummy time in. My head is a bit large and much heavier than his, so I think he was winning in the head-holding department. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them before, and what vision he has was fixed on all the colors amongst the pages. The bright hues of yellows and greens, and of course, red dogs and blue dogs. Even though he doesn’t know what they are yet, I watched this tiny human be in complete awe of something. Something so simple as colors on a page.
Do you remember the first time you saw a seashell at the beach? What about the first time you watched a plant grow from a seed? I feel nostalgic now as I think back to those moments, but when I think about how I felt then, I was much like Baby Nephew: in awe.
I just thought I was amazed by the feeling of grabbing a diploma, but really, I didn’t know what amazement felt like until I watched a baby discover the world.
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