Written by Julia Levy, a Simon Center alumni and summer teacher aide, for her college essay. 

My first memories begin at the Robert E. Simon, Jr. Children’s Center where I started attending at 3 months old. I have clear memories from nap time, lying in my cot with my stuffed reindeer and staring at the ceiling when I couldn’t sleep. I remember the teachers rubbing on my sunscreen before we went outside. I remember how it felt, how they pulled at my skin. I remember dancing with my friends and the teachers reading us Goodnight Moon. The last memory I have at the Simon Center was my preschool graduation. I remember walking down the hallway with a cap on my head and a certificate in hand. I remember the smiling faces of my proud parents and how accomplished and “grown up” I felt in that moment.

Twelve years later, I returned to the Simon Center, this time as part of the staff. I worked over the summer as a teacher’s aide, floating through the classrooms and taking care of children ranging from five-months to five-years-old. Many of my former teachers still worked at the center and they took care of me in the same way they had done twelve years earlier. They still called me Juju, my childhood nickname, and snuck me extra fruit during snack time. They told me stories from when I was a baby, and I was surprised how they could recall these memories so clearly. Over the next couple of months at the Simon Center, I too recognized that I would never forget this experience because of the lessons I had learned.

Taking care of these kids reminded me of forgotten childhood feelings. I connected with the children in a profound way. Since I was once in their place, I saw myself in each and every child. Memories flooded back to me about the overwhelming excitement that children feel and the innocence in which they live their lives. For the first time since I was a kid, I felt the intense feeling of longing for things like a toy, a turn on the seesaw, or a hug from my mom.

As the summer went on, I found myself applying their sunscreen and rocking them to sleep during nap time. I danced with them, played with them, and read stories to them. Somehow, and seemingly so suddenly, I had gone from the child to the teacher. I began to observe the way I experienced the joys of life as a child. This perspective gave me the chance to remember what it means to be a kid and as a result, I also realized what it means to have grown up.

On the drive home from my last day of work, I cried as I thought about how much I had changed. I reflected on how the last time I left the Simon Center, twelve years earlier, I was just about to enter kindergarten. Now, I am a rising senior in high school with real responsibilities and challenges. The realities of growing up had stripped me of that excitement and innocence. In addition, saying goodbye to the kids felt like I was saying goodbye to a part of myself, as if I was leaving behind Juju and becoming Julia.

As I thought more about my summer though, I realized that growing up doesn’t have to mean growing out of myself; if anything, it means building upon who I was. I realized I never truly lost the boundless creativity, inspiration, and drive I once had as a child, I just had to relearn it. Relearning and reliving these feelings let me reconnect with my younger self, Juju, and helped me cope with the difficulties of getting older. What started as a part-time summer job to make some extra cash became an experience which allowed me to more deeply reflect on and understand who I was, who I am, and who I will become.