Time to put my big girl pants on

When I sat down behind the wheel of my car yesterday, I got a sudden whim to drive through my old part of town, where my mom and I lived, oh, ten years ago. I've been back here for a little over a year now, but I'd just never felt the urge to swing by before. I guess I was having a nostalgic moment. So without even thinking about it I wound up in my old stomping grounds and was greeted with the most warm and fuzzy feeling I've ever experienced in my life.

Only not really.

What a wreck! Our quaint little street now looks like the backdrop for a drug deal scene in a sketchy movie. I actually felt a tad nervous cruising around, and booked it out of there pretty quickly. Maybe I just had rose-colored glasses on when I was ten and saw happiness and sunshine everywhere I turned. Who knows. We've never been wealthy by any means, but I still consider myself privileged -- I got a used but decent car when I turned sixteen and I always knew I would go to college, even if I had to pay for it with loans. So maybe we didn't live in the Hamptons, but I'm not complaining. My childhood was unorthodox but a good one.

I'll admit that this wasn't the first time I'd explored an old abode. A few years ago when I just so happened to be in Kansas City, conveniently close to my earlier childhood home, I might have swung by. It might have been abandoned and I might have let myself in and laughed hysterically because my old bedroom still looked like an insane asylum -- white walls, floor and all. I also might have taken a piece of the siding on my way out which my mother claims is likely contaminated with asbestos. (If the first place looks like the backdrop for a drug deal scene, this place would be the prime locale for a post-apocalyptic flick.)

Anyway, as I was leaving yesterday (hurriedly), I glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed something: my scar.

When I was six or so, we were in the middle of K-Mart and I jumped up to give my sister a hug. Long story short: chin met forehead, and we both wound up in the hospital for stitches. So I've had this pretty noticeable scar on my forehead (not Harry Potter worthy, but a forehead scar nonetheless) for the majority of my life, and I'm totally blind to it. Seriously haven't noticed that thing in years. But here I am in my old neighborhood, realizing my adulthood sight is quite different from my childhood sight, when I see it again. Isn't it funny how time and age blind us to certain things?

It was an eye-opening moment for me at any rate...one of those, "oh crap, I'm growing up" realizations. Which conveniently came on the same day that a speaker advised my class on job hunting -- and warned us to get started NOW. Yikes. Time to put my big girl pants on.