One year old. 1, 2, 3.
Two years old. A, B, C.
Three years old. Up and down. Over and out. Loop-the-loop, pull.
Four years old. Don’t go back eating Cerelac 20 years from now, okay?
Five years old. Earthquakes hurt, boy.
Six years old. Small circle, small circle, big circle. Small circle, small circle, big circle. Here’s Mama, here’s Papa, here’s me. Six times six, 36. Six times six, 36.
Seven years old. The Sun is at the center of the solar system.
Eight years old. In 1521, Magellan arrived in the Philippines.
Nine years old. Matter has three phases: solid, liquid, gas.
Ten years old. My very educated mother just sent us nine pizzas.
Eleven years old. Rahab threw the cord over her window and was spared from the fall of Jericho.
Twelve years old. Arrange numbers lengthwise in synthetic division.
Thirteen years old. I indict the Spanish encomendero for making taxes impossible to pay.
Fourteen years old. Don’t worry about your voice going one octave lower.
Fifteen years old. It’s not do-re-mi. It’s solfege.
Sixteen years old. Mmmm, cigarettes.
Seventeen years old. Mmmm, vices.
Eighteen years old. Workers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains.
Nineteen years old. Everyone has rights, but there are barriers that keep people from exercising them.
Twenty years old. Keep your head up. It’s just your heart that’s broken.
Twenty-one years old. Welcome to the low point. You either find a way out, or make a way out. Staying here is no option.
Twenty-two years old. Someday, everything is going to make sense. Just not now. Not yet.
Twenty-three years old. Straight and narrow. Straight and narrow. Straight and narrow.
Twenty-four years old. All things have a way of falling into place.
Twenty-five years old. Take everything you learned. Throw them out the window and learn them all over again. Oh, and happy birthday. Life begins again.