BB Grey–musings

Daily writing prompt

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

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When I was five, I was a lost boy,
a Peter Pan with a heart full of Neverland,
and I didn’t want to grow up.
I’ve always had a hard time letting go—
of things, of moments, of the small universe
that spun around me at five years old.

To give up being five felt like betrayal.
My world was a constellation of simple stars:
Mother, Father, sister, brother,
a handful of friends whose laughter
echoed like wind chimes in the summer air,
my toys—soldiers and cars and a teddy bear
with one button eye,
and the unbridled joy of being five,
a joy so pure it shimmered like morning dew.
I couldn’t bear to let it go.

I’d watch the adults,
their towering shadows stretching long across the floor,
my father among them,
his face etched with the seriousness of “going to work.”
It frightened me—the weight of it,
the way their voices carried burdens
I couldn’t yet name.
I didn’t want to go where they were going.
I wanted to stay in the world I knew,
where my mother made me breakfast,
her hands warm with the scent of toast and jam,
where I woke up cocooned in sheets and blankets,
the kind of warmth that felt like a hug from the sun.

That world was the street I played on,
where the pavement knew the rhythm of my feet,
where I rode my red tricycle,
its wheels humming a song of freedom,
where every day unfurled like a new adventure—
the newness of things,
the excitement of everything,
the wonder of it all.
A butterfly’s wings were a marvel,
a puddle after rain a mirror to the sky,
and the sound of my own laughter
was the loudest magic I knew.
When I was five, I didn’t want to grow up.

But then life happened,
as it always does,
a quiet thief that steals you away
from the shores of childhood.
I chased manhood,
running headlong into the years,
leaving boyhood behind like a forgotten toy
in the grass,
its colors fading under the weight of time.
And yet, for the better part of this life,
I’ve been chasing that boy—
the one who knew how to marvel,
who lived in a world where wonder
was as close as the next sunrise,
who didn’t yet know the ache of growing up.

When I was five, I wanted to remain a boy,
forever pedaling that red tricycle
under a sky that never stopped singing.
And now, all these years later,
I’m still searching for the echo of his laughter,
hoping to find him waiting for me
in the warmth of a morning
that feels like home.