All grown up

8/7/01

In the weeks before my twelfth birthday, a lot changed for me because my grandma died, and I got my first period.

I didn't know it at the time, but these changes catapulted me prematurely into my early twenties.

Somehow my face and body underwent a transformation, and I haven't looked the right age since.

That summer I spent two weeks with a group of ten or fifteen Baha'i teenagers on a service project in the Navajo and Hopi reservations.

The first day I joined them I was talking to one of the boys - he was college aged - and he was playfully putting his arm around my waist.

I didn't know what to make of that. I was used to receiving little to no attention from boys and the subtle language of flirtation flew right over my head.

Later on he asked me how old I was, and I told him: twelve. His jaw dropped. His face turned white, then red, and he started talking really fast about how he thought I was in college, 18 at least.

At that point I got an inkling about the arm around my waist.

This continued, usually without the acute embarrassment of misguided flirtation, for years.

People my age thought I was about their age, and people in their twenties thought I was about their age, too.

I did have a number of romantic close calls with men who would have gone to jail if we had ever, you know, done anything.

At 15 I dated a man who was 28 years old. I didn't tell him how old I was-I liked him, and by that time I was tired of the jaw drop, the exclamations of "you seem so much older!"

Subconsciously I liked the whole "older man" thing. I'll admit that I was pretty messed up as a teenager. When my age finally came out, I found out the guy thought I was twenty four.

It's kind of icky to say it, but I think he actually liked me more once he found out how young I was. Creepy.

In and immediately following the college years, my apparent age fluctuated.

I could go into bars without getting carded, but I was asked for identification when I wanted to sit in the emergency exit aisle of airplanes-minimum age: 15.

My perceived age didn't get any older than mid twenties, however. I might be going out on a limb here, but maybe that had something to do with the fact that I had shaved my head. Somehow it just doesn't say "mature."

Now I'm around thirty and enjoying a pretty stable and youthful perceived age. Estimates consistently average between 23 and 25, and I like it.

I'm gradually getting over the thrill of telling people I'm thirty and hearing them say, "you seem so much younger!"

I take it as a sign that my combination of good genes and positive attitude is really working for me, not that my fantastic lack of accomplishment causes people to lump me in with those who have just completed college.

I don't really know why I looked so much older when I was a teenager. I think I just had a lot of responsibility and a lot to deal with, and it showed.

Even when I was a little girl I knew I was my mom's piece of the rock.

Fortunately I made it through the minefield of being treated like an adult: the older men, the bars, sitting in emergency exit aisles.

Now I'm being treated as - what? A precocious 23-year-old? A 25-year-old with an erratic sense of direction? Whatever it is, at thirty, it doesn't matter nearly as much as it once did.

Personal musings:

Wilderness: Dreams of living in the wild persist and change.

All grown up: At 12 I looked like I was 20, at 24 I looked 15.

Altruism: Can you ever repay the kindness of a stranger?

Photos in a box: A package from my brother turned my memories of childhood upside down.

Short story long: How to lengthen a narrative in a few easy steps.

Writing: Going the distance to find things to write about.

Neighbors: An amazing account of urban generosity.

Snacking: The angst of a healthy diet.

Thoughts on spiritual matters:

Subway preachers: Transcendence on the Red Line.

Thoughts in the Kingdom: How do you keep your mind in heaven and your heart in the world?

After September 11: Response to an attack on a mosque in Bridgeview, Ill., on September 12.