When I look back at my childhood, I can see many ways in which I was hindered from the things I wanted to do. I wasn't the sort to pester my mom until she relented (as my younger siblings were), but rather I asked with caution and felt relieved when she said yes to anything at all. I took what was easy to get, and missed out on so many things that I really wanted. All because I wanted to please my mother.

My mom really wasn't the pushy type. That was my dad's thing, and it was only in regards to sports, which he felt was more of a boy thing, anyway. So really, I didn't get too much pushing. I got pushed to get good grades and to do my chores, and other than that, I wasn't pushed in any active way.

It was more the denial that hurt me. Cutting off my dance lessons when I was six because she didn't feel like taking me anymore. After that I was too afraid to ask for any sort of class until I was sixteen, when I finally got brave enough to ask for tap lessons again, and as luck would have it, she let me take piano lessons, too (I had wanted to learn since I was five).

I wanted to learn to sew, but my mom only had the patience to spend about 20 minutes teaching me the basics of sewing some simple straight-legged pants (much like pajama pants). Somehow my sister talked her into a sewing class, but I must have felt undeserving for some reason or another, because I didn't take the class.

I was good at drawing, and my mother encouraged it. I was good at poetry, and she encouraged that. She suggested I could write and illustrate children's books some day. I thought that was a nice idea. But it was difficult finding ways to develop my skills that didn't require asking special requests of my mother.

I was good at learning foreign language, and she encouraged it. However, she made me take Spanish even though I wanted to learn French. She said it was more useful. I still took French a couple years into high school, but since I was more advanced at Spanish, I ended up majoring in it in college. I realized I liked French better and Italian even more, but kept telling myself that Spanish was more useful. After three years of college Spanish and even a study abroad program, I got burned out and never got my degree. I still wish I knew French (my husband speaks it), and I am still in love with Italian and would love to learn it. I never use my Spanish.

My mom bought me an SLR camera for Christmas one year (it was something I had asked for but didn't think she'd actually spend that much money). I learned I was good at photography. My mom encouraged it and was excited when I changed my major to photography.

But you know what's sad? I wanted to do photography since I was about 10 years old, but never thought I could take a class for it. When I asked for a camera when I was 14, I got a point and shoot which did little for my waiting-to-be discovered talent. When I was in high school, I longed to be in a darkroom, but it seemed as though one had to be on the newspaper or yearbook staff for that, and I wasn't really a "people person"--too shy to be taking pictures of everyone. By the time I got to college the only options I saw were things I already had some experience in--like foreign language. I figured I would pick up photography as a hobby when I was old and retired--again, too afraid to go after what I really wanted.

I was in my mid-twenties before I realized how stupid I was being. I finally realized that I did have a choice. No one was going to stop me. My mom had no power over me to say "no"--though I was still afraid to bring it up, and was surprised she was happy about my decision. The sad thing is that I could have majored in photography at a better school, had I known earlier. Had I had any experience earlier. Had I felt that I could ask to learn the things I wanted to as a child instead of cautiously asking as little from my mother as possible.

You know what else is sad? I still want to learn so many of the things I wanted to as a child! I still want to play the piano well (the few weeks of lessons I got as a teenager just weren't enough to put me at the advanced level). I still want to learn to sew (I only know very basic stuff). I still want to dance. I took all the dance classes I could while I studied Spanish at a university that had a great dance program. I still long to dance and dream of having a huge house with room for a dance studio. Not that I'm very good (maybe I could have been), but skill isn't what matters here. It's passion that matters. I have a passion for art, music, dance, language--but I was too afraid to ask for things to help me along my path of discovery.

Now I am thirty, and I realize I still have many years ahead of me, but my time fills up so quickly. I have a husband, and a child. There is so much to do. How can I possibly fulfill these childhood dreams (that still ache in my heart) as well as do all the things I need to do, and other things I want to do?

Childhood is priceless. It's a chance to do nothing but learn and have fun without adult responsibilities getting in the way. I don't generally regret my mistakes because I usually learn something from them. But the mistake I made of not asking has cause me to not learn things. I actually feel like my adult life is harder because I didn't dance, master a musical instrument, or learn to sew as a child. So much emphasis was placed on academics that I didn't learn what I really needed to know.


I've heard people say they didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives until they were thirty. I wonder, how many of those people knew as a child, but were dissuaded from it?