You are twelve. Things that I don’t think you know, you do. Things that I don’t think you should know, you do. Things that I don’t know, you are teaching me. This table is slowly turning.
You are twelve. You have the attitude of a teenager and the antics of a boy. You barely acknowledge my morning goodbye’s at the bus stop. You are agreeable and easy going and love filling the role of the class clown, a natural performer. You are confident, clever, kind, temperamental, more feeling than thinking, creative and observant. You are twelve. You are so much more than I could have ever dreamed.