There’s no shame in yearning for childhood innocence. Especially in a high-stress environment like Whitman, it’s easy for something to snap and for us to revert back to responsibility-free wonder and glee. But is it too late to enjoy the things we used to? Maybe not. Two Black & White writers offer their perspectives on why we shouldn’t put our childhoods on the top shelf.

Ode to childhood, by Peter Hoogstraten

A sphere of yellow Play-Doh lies in front of me. Or maybe it’s the sun, with a big grin on its face. The green pillar to the right of the sun could be a tree, and the little black balls under it—people. The smell is an odd yet familiar one, like the smell of a place I knew long ago. The scene is peaceful, and in a strange way, comforting.

The voice of the classmate next to me rudely yanks me out of the daydream, and I get back to work creating a detailed model of the human eye. Episodes like these rarely occur, but when they do, we should try to cherish them. These snippets represent the last of what remains of our dwindling childhoods.

Yeah, childhood. That thing your elders keep telling you to enjoy while you have it. That thing that many of us are eager to be rid of yet at the same time reluctant to depart with. But here’s the frightening thing: it’s almost over.

Is there a specific age when childhood ends and the path to adulthood begins? For many it could be the age of 18, when you are legally no longer considered to be a minor. You can vote, get a tattoo, and even order off an infomercial.

For others the transition could happen a few years earlier, when you first hit adolescence. Or perhaps the time is something rather indefinable, like when you no longer feel the need to walk beside your mom in public.

Either way, this defining moment has likely already come for all of us. Now that’s a scary thought—but only if you let it be. The whole notion that in one instance you can completely transfer out of childhood is frankly ridiculous.

There seems to be some unwritten rule in society that once you reach a certain age you’re no longer allowed to do certain things. There’s a stigma attached to playing with dolls when you’re 16, or sleeping with a blanket when you’re 14. But if you enjoy doing something, who’s anyone to tell you you’re too old or mature to be doing it.

I consider myself to be a young adult, and certainly not the shy little boy I once was. But does that mean that if I see a tub of Play-Doh I won’t play with it? Heck no. Because I can still appreciate the fun I once had with objects from my earlier years. Last week my friend and I stumbled upon the Holy Grail: his stash of old Legos. I’m not ashamed to admit that playing with those things was probably the highlight of my week.

Your childhood is something to cherish while you have it, yes, but the greatest way to enjoy it is to not think about when it will be over. The best part is that you can choose when you want it to end.

Sure, we all have to grow up at some point. We have to start doing things independently. But don’t grow up until you’re ready. Once you get into the mindset that you’re too old for something, you’ll never enjoy that thing again.

Don’t let go of your inner child, by Hayley Segall

Snowmen, ice and snow in October? This could only mean one thing. A real life Frozen. Well, at least the kind that could be confined to a collegiate-sized arena.

I spent a night last week with a close friend and a sea of children of about eight and under at Disney’s production of “Frozen: On Ice.”

When I told people my raging plans for my Saturday night, a sense of unwarranted sympathy arose, because a poor 16-year-old girl couldn’t find a party to go to, and therefore found comfort with thousands of singing and laughing elementary schoolers. Well to those who felt that way, I have completely warranted sympathy for you.

In the prime years of elementary school and pre-K, my parents stuffed my days with memorable musicals, activities and shows on ice. Walking into the Patriot Center’s arena full of greasy popcorn, spilled sugary syrups and flashing Disney lights brought back a surge of excitement and nostalgia. And for those two hours, I was one with my inner child.

As Elsa, Ana and Olaf glided gracefully on the sparkling ice, doing overly exaggerated gestures and emphatic choreography, the young crowd roared with laughter and glee. I couldn’t help but get wrapped up in the moment and feel the melting away of Lang-paper induced, end-of-quarter impending doom.

I found something I thought was lost forever: my childhood. Although the jokes were not the height of sophistication, and shaved ice with technicolor syrup was a pricey $12, I knew that I had done myself a most important deed, keeping the vital years of my childhood alive.

It may not be seen as “cool” or “mature,” but looking around, parents and siblings of all ages immersed themselves in the happiness of the moment, doing the “Snowman Dance” and singing along to “Let It Go.” At that one moment in time, the age gap was unimportant, and we were all just little kids again.

For many, including myself, high school is a whirlwind of college panic attacks, social anxieties and desires to settle on an identity. But, what we often forget is that we have our whole lives to be that responsible, mature adult who laughs at the jokes about the fiscal cliff on NPR.

So I say skip one party. There will always be more. Find what used to make you that giddy, energetic kid, because there’s nothing wrong with singing along to a snowman dancing on ice. Nothing at all.