Once a month I get a call from the United Way to check in with me about my “little”. Several months ago, after several elaborate background checks (the NSA has nothing on the United Way), multiple interviews, and majority of my friends and family being grilled as to what kind of person I was, I was given the all clear to protect the president, no, I was given the green light to be a Big Sister.

The phone call is always the same, what do you like to do with your little? How is she doing in school… It is the same series of questions and I generally give the same series of answers. Today, the woman I spoke with wanted me to start asking my little more serious questions about her friendships in school as well as asking her, “how does she like being where she is at in her life?”

My little, we will call her Jane, is 12. I am quite sure she does not know where she is at in her life. Jesus, I am almost forty, and besides the geographical location at any moment – like right now, I am in my living room at home – I don’t have the slightest idea where the hell I am in my life. I remember being 12, well kind of, and it was absolutely miserable. Would I have offered up this information to someone distinctly older than me, or any age, if directly asked about it? Absolutely not. I had a hard time not laughing at this woman on the phone. Perhaps she does not spend any time with teenagers, or pre-teens for that matter.

After getting off the phone, I found myself going down the rabbit hole, back into those god awful years as a pre-teen. The ridiculous outfits, the first time I got high, the first time I got drunk, the handful of middle schools and high schools I attended. It makes me uneasy. Writing about it now, takes me back yet again. But I am not that kid anymore, and I am grateful to be sitting in my living room as a fully functional adult.

An adult who will have ice cream for dinner – in some cases, those unexpected detours down memory lane warrant a treat.