In about 2 short days, I will become 18 years young. To me and my peers, that seems so old. I am an “adult,” as classified by law and society. I can watch R-rated movies without a parent, I can ride a motorcycle, and I can buy all those things you see on TV where you have to be 18 or older to order. Yeah!
But what does that even mean?
Because to a 70-year-old, I’m still a kid, but they’re an adult. Even if they have no teeth, are back in diapers, and have the memory and attention span of a toddler, they’re the adult. And to them, I will probably be a kid until I’m 30 years old. Maybe more. What does the world need to see out of me for them to call me an adult? Is it not enough that my vocabulary spans miles? That I have completed a tortuous ritual of public education with flying colors? Would they like me to stop sleeping with stuffed animals, or stop playing video games?
What will it take for me to actually be not just a grown-up, but an adult?
A revolution. An evolution. Unbridled, and not repressed. I, by becoming 18, am now free to do so. By that, I mean nobody will hold me back from jumping off of a skyscraper. Nobody will hold me back from leaping off, onto, or into anything. I am now free to evolve by myself. This is both exhilarating and utterly petrifying. But I like it.
Something strange has been happening lately. When I was 14, 15, my friends would always come to me first with their problems. They saw me as reliable, comforting, and wonderful. My parents found me a perfect angel who always did everything right.
But now? None of my friends, out of the few I have, come to me first for anything. Somebody else is waiting for them, somebody they know can handle their woes better than me. I’m no longer the most reliable, altruistic, or helpful. My parents are criticizing me more and more than usual. After everything they’ve taught me and my world has taught me, I have found a comfortable way to live, and to be. But they’re telling me it’s wrong. Normally, I realize my mistakes and I’ll correct them before anybody else tries to. But I am currently being told that things I feel I am doing excellent at…
I’m doing very, very poorly at.
It’s weird.
I don’t know what happened, what changed, or who changed. Everything probably did. The universe very well may have just completely scrambled everything and everybody and somehow, I seem to have gotten tumbled out in the middle of a desert with nothing but sand and silence for miles.
So here comes the revolution.
Where my parents’ hands are no longer on my handlebars, and the training wheels are gone, too. Where I will meet new people who I will again be the hero to; the helpful and compassionate being that so few people see me as anymore.
I think I am more of a child now than I ever was at 5 or 11. This is where I REALLY grow up now. That’s the basic definition of being a kid. You are only a kid because you are growing up. And I really, really am.
And buddy, I am lost, I can’t find my binky or my blankie, my diaper is full, I scraped my knee, my nose is stuffy, I need a nap, and all I can do to tell anybody ANY of this is scream until my head hurts.
But I’ll figure it out.
I want to know, SuperForest. All of you who are over 18 (which I’m assuming is…pretty much everyone?) How was your transition into adult childhood? When did you start feeling the world crashing down on your born-again infant-hood? Did it ever? What has changed you most as a person that occurred from that time?
Thanks you guys. Love on! And wish me luck!
Recent Comments