I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, more than I probably should, and it just keeps swirling around in my head, especially now that I’m getting to that age where you start looking back, you know? Like what did I actually *do*? What did I build? And what did I just… let happen. Or worse, what did I push along, even when I knew it wasn't right. I'm sitting here, the city sounds outside, and it’s just me and this feeling, this heavy thing in my chest. It’s about someone I knew, someone really young back then, just a kid really, still in high school. And I saw what they were carrying, all that stuff that wasn't theirs to carry. Their folks, they were good people, salt of the earth, just new here, you know? The language thing was a huge barrier for them, and honestly, the whole way things work in this country, it’s just so different. So this kid, they stepped up. They were handling everything. All the bills, electric, gas, internet, even the phone plan for everyone. And groceries too, somehow making that money stretch, figuring out the sales, doing all the budgeting. It was a lot. Too much for anyone that age. I remember one time, we were all talking, just a casual thing, and this kid, they mentioned having to call the utility company because of some mix-up with the bill. And they talked about it so casually, like it was just another chore, like taking out the trash. But I knew, I *knew* what that meant. Sitting on hold, trying to understand all the complicated language, advocating for their family. It wasn’t just a phone call. It was hours, probably, of mental energy, stress, things no kid should have on their plate when they should be worrying about homework or friends or what college they might go to. And I watched it. That’s the thing that really gets me now. I watched it happen. I saw them, this bright, smart kid, getting bogged down by all that adult responsibility. And I never said anything. Not really. I'd offer a little help here and there, a small gesture, like picking up something from the store if I was already going, but never anything substantial, nothing that would actually ease the burden. I’d think, "Oh, they're so resilient, so capable," and that was my excuse. My convenient little thought that let me off the hook. I mean, I had my own stuff going on, of course. Always did. The city’s expensive, always has been. Trying to keep my head above water, keep my own bills paid, worrying about my own future. It felt like I was just barely treading water myself. So the idea of taking on more, of really stepping in, it felt… impossible. Or maybe I just *told* myself it felt impossible. That’s what I wrestle with now. Was it truly impossible, or was I just unwilling to truly inconvenience myself? I think about the things I could have done. I could have offered to sit with them, help them make those calls, explain the jargon. I could have offered to go to the grocery store *with* them, show them some tricks, or even just pay for a week’s worth of food, just *once*. Not a handout, but a way to ease the pressure valve. Just one week where they didn't have to calculate every penny. But I didn't. I just kept my distance, admired their strength from afar, and felt a pang of guilt that quickly faded into the background noise of my own life. Now, all these years later, I see people talk about that kind of thing, about kids having to grow up too fast because their parents are struggling. And it hits me in a different way. It's not just a general problem out there. It was *my* problem, right in front of me, and I just… stood by. I think about that kid and where they are now, what kind of person they became. Did all that early pressure harden them? Or did it just make them stronger than anyone else? I hope it was the latter, but I have this nagging feeling that maybe I contributed to the former, just by not doing anything. And I guess that’s what this is about. This feeling. This need to just say it out loud, even if it's just to the ether. That I knew better, I saw it, and I didn't act. And now, as I get older, and think about what I’m leaving behind, or what kind of person I was, that moment keeps coming back. It's not something I can fix now, not really. But it just sits there, a quiet reminder of a chance I let slip away. A chance to be truly helpful, truly kind, and instead, I just watched. And that feels… wrong. Just so wrong.