Young to Old and Old to Young

My sister and I had an interesting conversation one night late last week. It was another quiet evening at home, just her and I, eating leftovers for dinner. We were watching the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
"Hey Duy?" she mumbles, with a mouthful of rice.
"Yeah?"
"Do you ever wish you were young again?"
"uhhh...yeah. Kinda."
I wipe my mouth with a napkin and switch the channel to some Family Guy. Peter drove into the town's TV satellite thing, disrupting everyone's television, and then blamed it all on his daughter, Meg.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Being a kid, not having to worry about school and stuff," she replied, this time nibbling on a piece of chicken.
"Well yeah, but I like being a teenager. It's effing sweet. Oh shit! Reminds me, you just turned twelve. You're a preteen."
"Yeah I know."
"Oh shit, I need to start getting you some condoms."
"shut up."
"Yeah you're right. You're not going to get laid in middle school like your big brother did," I jokingly shove her on the shoulder.
"Ewwwww...You WISH!"
"Yeah I know, but seriously. Twelve is an important age for you. It symbolizes your last year as a child. You know?"
"Yeah. Sucks."
I lift up the remote and flip the channel to the food network right before Peter started to sing his parody of MChammer's song.
"You know what I wish?"I piped in after licking my fork clean.
"That you could get laid?"
"shutup."
"I'm just kidding. What?"
"That you could be like a kid, but with all the funness of being a teenager. Like drugs and sex. Wouldn't it be cool to be a kid who was having sex and drugs?" I sit back with a dreamy expression etched all over my rice-covered face.
"You mean like child actors?"LOL. "Don't you think its weird how old people want to be younger and young people always try to act older?"
"I don't think its weird. I know what you mean though."
I begin to get up but she tries to stop me.
"Do you ever feel that way?" She asks, stalling.
"That's enough talking for tonight baby sister." I turn off the TV and pick up my plate. I drop it into the sink, run a quick shower over my fork, and hightail it up the stairs, thoughts of child actors and pieces of grilled chicken, both swirling in my mind and stomach.