Coming+of+Age+Essay+Marisa


 * Assignment Description:** http://iolaniwomenlit.wikispaces.com/Coming+of+Age+Essay

[|**http://www.flickr.com/photos/nouspique/4783603430/sizes/l/**]  Not Alone Growing up is something most teens learn on their own. However, for me, it’s different. Being a twin adds a whole new aspect to becoming of age. Like any other scenario, it has its advantages and disadvantages. Growing up with a twin, it will take longer for me to become what I consider a woman. My sister and I hold each other back unknowingly from growing up because I am constantly mothering her while she is constantly fathering me. From day one, I have always babied my twin sister, Kaleen. I treat her more like a daughter than a sister. My nurturing and caring quality possesses me to act as a second mother towards Kaleen: “Go take your medicine.” “What do you want to want to eat?” “Did you finish all your homework?” I feel the need to always check up on her, so I’m always on her case. Around the age of twelve, I was even called “Mom” by my softball teammates. Most of my friends, coaches, and teachers saw me as a mature young woman because I was the responsible and better-behaved twin. However, the people who knew me the closest, such as my family, knew that I was far from what is considered a young woman. Although Kaleen brought the mother-like instinct out of me at a young age, that doesn’t mean I am a young woman. Fearless, strong-willed, and sociable, Kaleen’s personality pushes her to be an independent individual. Since she has been the independent twin, I have always been dependent on her to do the “adult” things, such as asking for help at the store or ordering food at the count er. Independence is one of the most vital essentials to becoming of age. However being dependent on my sister rather than myself is what separates me from being a woman. Although I am the mother-like twin, my sister is the one teaching me how to grow up. Surprisingly, Kaleen’s traits are similar to the stereotype of a father. I see our twin relationship as a married couple that instead of parenting our child, we parent each other. I always take the responsibility and do the mental work in the relationship while Kaleen does the physical work. Because of this, we have blindly become dependent on each other. At the beginning of last year, only I had my driver’s license, so I was always driving my sister and myself around everywhere in our van. Not only did I feel like a mother, I looked like one too. Everyone said I looked like a soccer mom taking her children to practic e. While I acted as the mother, Kaleen acted as the father. One day, just as we parked our blue Sienna in the garage, I looked at the fuel tank meter and the red hand was pointing to the capital E. Just as Kaleen had one foot out of the car, I said, “Wait, Kaleen, we need to go fill up gas.” “Go fill it up yourself. I always have to go with you.” “I don’t know how to fill up gas and I’m scared to do it. Please, just come. I do so much for you. I always take you places and help you with homework.” With my chubby cheeks slightly pouted and my eyes widened, I stared Kaleen down until she finally looked at me. //Oh man, here we go, Kaleen is going to make that face that weird face that I hate and she’s going to start yelling her head off for no reason.// Big eyed, face slightly red from sunburn or from the anger that was building in her, I couldn’t tell, she yelled back with her lips so far out of her face, and hands flying everywhere, “What are you talking about? That’s because you always come with me anyway and you always insist on helping me! I don’t even ask you to help me! You’re the one!” “Just please, come with me. I never ask you for anything.” “No!” “Please?” “Ugh! I’ll go with you but I’m not going to get out of the car. You gotta fill up the car yourself.” <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">“Okay, deal. Jeez.” <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Flustered and irritated by each other, we drove in silence only to arrive at Aloha gas station a few minutes later. <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">“Can you just come out with me to show me how to do it?” I said in a calm and polite tone. <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">“No, I told you I wasn’t going to go out of this car! Just go!” <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">“Pleeeease! You just need to show me how this one time and I won’t ask you ever again.” <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Kaleen’s hands flying in air and pointing to the pump, “No! Just shut up and go! You have to learn to do this on your own! Just read on the thing! It tells you what to do!” <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">“Huuuh! Your so mean! Gosh!” <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">As I stepped out of the car, my heart was beating faster than I could count. //Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. How the heck am I suppose to do this?// Recalling, righty tighty lefty loosey, I put a firm grip on the gas tank cap and began twisting the cap counter- clockwise. //Alright, got that done, now what do I do?// Turning my eyes to the little black screen, I read, “Insert card. Remove quickly.” Hesitant to put my card in the wrong way, I looked at the picture on the side of the card inserter to make sure I was correct. I inserted my card and swiftly pulled it out. Turning my head side to side, I tried to see if anybody noticed how long I took to insert my card. A breath of relief left my body as I moved on to the next step. <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Turning my eyes back onto the screen, it read, “Enter zip code.” Entering nine, six, seven, four, four, and then enter, I exerted an even bigger sigh of relief. I continued to read the instructions on the machine. I did exactly what it said, lifted the nozzle, pressed the 87 button, inserted the nozzle into the gas tank, and held down on the click. With a nonchalant attitude, I held down on the nozzle with one hand, and placed my other hand on my hip. In those few minutes, my head constantly nodded steadily. I was so impressed with myself. It was overwhelming for me and it was a relief to have done something on my own. <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Click. I pulled the nozzle out of my fuel tank and twisted the cap back on. Making sure it was securely on, I tuned it a few extra rotations. Click, click, click, click. I walked calmly to the driver’s side of the door and got into the car. I looked at Kaleen with a teethless smile. She looked back at me, shook her head like I was an idiot and said, “Ok, now you can do it on your own. Jeez, you’re so dumb.” I inserted the key into the ignition and we rolled off. <span style="color: #ff7300; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Something so small as filling up gas on my own made me feel so much more independent. It’s the little things that a person must do on their own that sets them apart from a nonindependent individual. I am still learning and becoming aware of these so called “little things,” like driving on my own, going to places and functions on my own, and to just understanding the daily news. As a girl, I still have a lot more to learn and do before I consider myself a woman. Just because I am like a mother, I still have that fatherly side that I must develop before I can consider myself a woman. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">