Kenny Lynch, Staff Writer 

When my mom watched me reach into the future as we lounged in the present, she pulled my hand back and gently reminded me, “By reaching for everything at once, you’ll forget what you already have. Slow down, Zakarie!” I was too impatient to be idle, yet the minute hands were catching up with me by the second. I was a precocious child with friends who aged their saplings with time, but I, on the other hand, was still waiting to sprout. My story is not different from your average teenager, but rather a boy that was too impatient to wait and climbed to the top of the tree.

It all started with my 10th birthday– the day I waited for my age to reach double-digits. It was a simple, sea-stirred day with a whiff of chlorine and freshly cut grass. I splashed around the sprinklers and joyously floundered in the grasslands. I remembered vividly that my father approached the porch in his truck that glimmered under the melting doubloon. As his door unfurled, I ran up to his open arms as he spun me around like a 1990s record player. My mother, who wore a floral top, smiled and chimed, “Dinner is ready! Round the yard and wash your hands when you come inside.”

A crew of children can be wild with energy, but reliable when hungry. When our scrubbed hands scurried around the set dining table, we started with grace as our hands fell into one another’s like bumblebees on flowers. We harmonized the final note, “Amen” and soon, we lifted our silverware and dug into our meals like pirates searching for treasure. In a way, dessert was a treasure. When dinner evaporated, my dad pulled out the lighter and my mother secretly lifted the cake that was sneakily tucked away from children with a curious gaze and a tenacious grip. As my family circled and sang, I blew the soaring candles out and wished, “I can’t wait to be a teenager. Life will be so much more fun!” Little did I know, I would spend years chasing milestones, blowing out candles only to wish I could relive this moment one last time.

On Wednesday, June 20, 2018, I turned the unlucky 13. This became the summer that forged my raw crystals into scintillating diamonds. It started off with my first party invitation by the varsity swim team. My invitation departed from the passenger seat in front of my driveway in the form of a paper airplane. As I marked the calendar and counted the clocks, I didn’t grasp all the days that ticked away. Tin cans and glass bottles clinked as my mind swirled like whirlpools. So, I tugged a few friends aside and asked them, “Can we catch some fresh air?” 

As they agreed, we walked out of the basement-turned-tavern. We passed women with boyfriends and men with long hair who strummed guitars. When we made it outside, we made our way down the driveway. The air felt cooler as our sweat dripped off like icicles. We sat down on the opaque pavement with legs straight as our upper body angled down. With the faint music and chattering, the pine trees twirled in the star-stirred night.

By happenstance, at 11:11 p.m., we saw a living bolt of lightning dash across the sky. Our blurred eyes didn’t realize that the flash was, in fact, a shooting star. Regardless of what we saw, we still made a wish. As everything went dark, I saw the subtitles in my subconscious wishing for the next checkpoint in ages. I wanted to drive. Like my friends, I wanted to traverse the terrain without permission or being patient; so I wished to be 16.

As another year, month and day passed, the world granted what I wished for, but not what I needed. On Sunday, June 20, 2021, as the coffee pot awoke at 6:00 a.m., the grumpy decaffeinated man who was my father wasn’t too excited for the road ahead of him. At 8:00 a.m. sharp, I was behind the wheel with my father strapped in as he sunk into the passenger seat. After approximately 15 minutes, my father grabbed the steering wheel like his life depended on it. He turned the car around and shut the operation down.

My father swapped places with me like the sun does with the moon. I was not a bad driver, but rather, a work in progress. My father told me, “Be patient and always keep your eyes on the road. It is so unnecessary for you to speed. No one is going anywhere.” I always wondered if his advice belonged less to the road and more to my life. After countless failed turns, trials and frustrated sighs, I finally obtained a permit, a driver’s license and a parking pass in my high school parking lot. It became an unreal moment as I became the driver who drove the people that once drove me. Oddly, this was not enough for me; this milestone was not fulfilling for me. Perhaps it was the soil where my delicate roots were planted. I prayed to God, “Please Father, gently unroot me and blow each pappus to a pasture far, far away from here.”

A request I asked, a result I received. I went to college when I was 18 years old, an ordinary experience of the latter, but I came to realize that all of my companions bonded due to their legal ages. I felt involved in our conversations we had, but never at the pubs, clubs or bars. Everything I once prayed for did not deliver in the way I expected. So, when we visited the Shofuso Japanese Cultural Center, I threw a penny in the well and cast a wish like a spell. On Friday, June 20, 2025, I turned 20. 

I have 20 years of life. Yet I feel as if not one day had a chance to be alive. I am no longer friends with the people that I once thought would be at my wedding. I no longer drink like a flower wilting for water. Instead, I ponder over organic emotions. In the midst of it all, I forgot a lesson I was taught until it became relevant in my own life. Somewhere, my mom’s voice echoed dimly in my head, “Slow down, Zakarie,” but I was already too far gone. My mom was right about the advice she passed down to me. Throughout my life, I continuously reached for the future before I acknowledged the present. My greatest regret was not the time I lost, but the time I never let myself live.