Dear Me at Forty-Three,

Thank you for writing to me all these years. I am very curious about what I am like at forty-three. Am I married? Do I have children? What is my husband like? Or, maybe I’m not married. My feeling now is that if it does happen, it probably won’t be until I’m in my thirties or forties. I don’t know why I feel that way but I do. What type of career do I have? Have I written a novel or I am working in international government? Maybe I’m a psychologist.

Anyway, I’m in ninth grade now and will be going to high school next year. I haven’t been excelling in school the past year or two. I don’t know why. I guess I got tired of not getting recognized or praised for doing well. That sounds like an excuse but do you think my parents could sound even a little more enthusiastic when I come home with good news about my school work? Last year, I did well in the science project; I even went on to compete against kids in other schools. It was held at the college and was a lot of fun. I came home and told Mom and Dad how well I did and I got the usual, which was something like, “That’s great.” It doesn’t sound bad when I write it down like this but Dad couldn’t even be bothered to get up off his chair in the living room to come talk to me about it.

It was always like this. I remember when Mom would come home from conferences in elementary school and I had to keep asking her questions about how it went because otherwise she probably wouldn’t say anything! I really wanted, just once, for both of them to say, “Great job, honey!” “Let’s do something to celebrate!” I don’t think they were praised enough when they were kids which is maybe why they don’t know how to praise us (my brothers, sister and me).

Maybe that’s not the only reason my grades have slipped. I’ve just lost interest in school work. It seems like my mind is always occupied with something else. Thoughts about people, relationships…..guys! There’s always a dialogue going on in my head. I think about how I don’t measure up. Am I pretty enough? Why can’t I be one of those short, cute, petite girls who get all of the attention? Why do I clam up whenever a cute guy is around? It’s like my brain shuts off and I become mute. I’ve lost a lot of the self-confidence I had when I was a little girl. Boy, I hope I get it back!

I am working on getting my grades back up and I’m trying not to get too freaked out about starting high school. It’s probably just more of the same, right?

Well, I’m going to end this letter by saying that I hope you continue to write to me. I hope we are having a great life at forty-three.

Until next time,

Me at Fifteen

Hello!

It’s me again, your 43-year old self. I wanted to write you because I know all about how well you’re doing in school this year. Always finishing your work before your classmates. The answers come easily to you, don’t they? Your second grade teacher, Ms. Foxy, suggested that you try third grade work. After trying it for awhile, she had you sit in on a third grade class. I know it made you uncomfortable so, while you did complete your work, you never raised your hand and barely spoke a word. After a week or two of that, it was decided that you’d continue the extra work but in your own classroom. What a relief, eh? You didn’t know any of those third-graders and they just stared at you like you were a sideshow freak. It sure is nice of Ms. Foxy to take notice of you that way and to encourage you to push yourself.

Ms. Foxy is something else, isn’t she? I know you idolize her a bit. Maybe that’s why you organized that birthday party for her; rounding up the other kids to bring in treats and decorations for her special day. Afterward, when she stopped at each desk and gave each child a hug, she whispered in your ear, “I know you started this. Thank you.” You felt so good inside, making her happy. I imagine she’d be disappointed if she knew you lied when you told her you were not one of the kids who broke your box of crayons and tossed the crayons across the room. The other two kids were caught and they had to buy you new crayons. Why did you go along with that anyway?

It’s funny how, as the years roll by, these particular memories of second grade are what will stick with you. The excitement you feel about doing well in school yet 39 years later, you can still feel the humiliation of not being able to hack it attending an older classroom. The highs and lows. The people who impress you. The way Ms. Foxy dances to The Hustle during Phy Ed and how the fifth grade teacher can’t keep his eyes off of her. Oh, the stories you’ve been making up about those two! A romantic even at seven.

Enjoy the rest of the school year! I will write you again soon!

Hugs and kisses to Mom, Dad, brothers and sister. Remember, don’t get down on yourself if you make a mistake or if you’re not perfect at everything. Only God’s perfect, right?

All my love,

Me

Greetings, little one!

This letter is from you, me, that is, you at age 43. I know you are teaching yourself to read right now, but if this letter is too difficult, just ask your Mom for help. You’ll be surprised to know that in 39 years, you will still have the soft-cover Bible Primer that you are using right now to sound out words and letters. You haven’t started Kindergarten yet but you are so eager to read. That will never change.

Right now, you are looking forward to starting school. Hold on to that hunger for learning and try not to falter when you’re not always given the praise you seek. You’ve been given so many gifts and have so much potential; don’t let them go to waste, for someday, you could do great things!

You will look fondly back at this time in your life and its lack of complication. Playing with friends, climbing up into Mom’s lap for a good hug, twirling around the room to bright music for Dad…all moments to be savored. One day, you will wish you had those moments back again.

I will write you again soon, so until then, have fun and remember: You are a beautiful girl, dear one. Never doubt it.

Give Mom and Dad a hug for me and be good to our brothers and sister.

Until next time,

Me