craigdailypress.com

Each day, when I was younger, I would wake up and measure myself on the closet door, hoping that maybe I grew over night or that my hair had more volume than yesterday. Sometimes, I would stand on my tiptoes when my brothers weren't looking. Other times, I would move my pencil mark on the door up a few centimeters just enough so no one would notice.

I remember that feeling, of getting taller and of getting older. My friends and neighbors would comment, "Look at how much you have grown up." And I would nod in agreement because I had proof - the closet door - that, yes, I had grown up.

The closet door measured our growth. The closet door measured our age. But most importantly, the closet door measured our future. When I grew up, the door did not. When I left for San Diego, the door stayed.

And now I return three years later to this childhood memory.

Remember the last time you were absent from a comfortable place, a place that you would drive thousands of miles, swim for days, even run for miles to find? And once you found it again you come back hoping nothing has changed. To make sure it is the same, you give yourself a tour as if you were a tourist in an unfamiliar museum. It is like when you leave a sweatshirt at a friend's house.

When you get it back one year later you immediately try it on to make sure the comfort is the same and it still smells like you.

But, this time when I stepped into the ranch house, I skipped the introduction of the tour and went to the closet door. And I knew the closet door still would be there, but I wanted to check up on it, remind it that I was still around. Remind it that I was still the small town girl it knew. The one who hid behind it during hide and go seek every other game. The one who cried for hours using the T-shirts on the floor as Kleenex.

I hadn't measured myself since I was 14. And a part of me wanted to leave it that way. Because this door brought so much happiness into my life when I was younger. Even if I only grew a half of a centimeter I was thrilled. It was progress towards maturity. And now that I have gained that maturity facing the door was intimidating. This is the reason my brother refused to be measured -because of the chance that the pencil mark would go down instead of up. He no longer wanted his age recorded on that closet door and neither did I. Back then, I wanted to grow up so fast.

I wanted to be a pet shop owner.

I wanted to be veterinarian.

I wanted to be a cashier at City Market.

I wanted to be a ballerina.

I wanted to be a doctor.

Occupations such as these I dreamt about when I stood next to that closet door. They all were possible then.

Although I have yet to dance in "The Nutcracker" or call for an aisle clean up, when I stood next to that door today, I was satisfied to know that I was still growing.

So, what do you want to be when you grow up?