This reflective essay uses Anne Sexton's poem "The Fury of Overshoes" as a lens through which to examine the universal experience of wishing away childhood in pursuit of adulthood, only to look back with longing. Drawing on personal memories — New Year's celebrations with family, weekly story hours at the library, and trying to keep pace with parents on walks — the author explores how Sexton's imagery of overshoes, giant steps, and "big people" mirrors real-life experiences. The essay argues that adult responsibilities and disappointments reveal the true value of a carefree childhood, a lesson most people learn only in hindsight.
Many poems can describe my life, depending on my mood and inclination at the time. Sometimes, when I want to feel frivolous, I will read E.E. Cummings: "-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r / who/a)s w(e loo)k/upnowgath/ PPEGORHRASS." Or, if I am out walking, Robert Frost will pop into my mind: "The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, / But I have promises to keep, / And miles to go before I sleep, / And miles to go before I sleep." Yet it is often that I quote from Anne Sexton's poem "The Fury of Overshoes" when I become disgruntled about some "adult" responsibility I am obliged to fulfill. At that point, I usually grow more furious, realizing once again that I should have enjoyed my childhood while I had it, rather than fixating on everything I thought I was missing by not yet being an adult.
At great risk of being clichéd, Sexton's poem is a wonderful meditation on the "grass is always greener" idea — or, better yet, on the sentiment: "Don't you always know that you don't know what you want 'til it's gone." Sexton's poem makes me think about those days when I enjoyed family time, didn't have to work, and proudly took giant steps without thinking anything of it.
Looking back on my childhood, it seems I was always trying to appear or act older than I was. Most likely it was because I had older siblings who, I thought, could get away with murder, while I was held to many more rules and constraints. As Sexton writes: "The world wasn't yours. / It belonged to the big people." I would say to my parents, "This doesn't make sense. Why can they stay up until the New Year, when I have to go to bed?" I now know the reason. Partly it may have been because they wanted me to get my sleep — but actually, it was because they didn't want a child around when they watched adult movies, which was one of the New Year's traditions in our house. As long as I stayed up, it was "PG" movies or, even worse, "G"-rated ones. Now that I am older, I understand why they wanted me out of the room: those "G" movies are horrible.
After a few halfhearted attempts to stay awake, stifling yawns, I would follow orders and head off to bed, vowing to stay up until midnight, but always falling asleep within minutes. Now I genuinely miss those New Year's celebrations and wish I had complained less and enjoyed more. I don't get to see my family much these days, since we have all headed off in different directions. It was quality, not quantity, that mattered.
"Library story hour and workplace disillusionment"
"Giant steps metaphor and adult decision-making burdens"
"Adult sacrifices and retrospective appreciation of childhood"
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