In August of 1996, my father drove me to Sandcreek Middle School in order to help me find my locker and my classrooms a week before my middle school experience would begin. I was eleven and a half years old, going into sixth grade, and had recently been contemplating this major step in my life. I would be attending middle school, the holy sanctum of adolescent-hood. I couldn’t think of a more adult thing to be doing with my life. As the oldest child in my family, I had no one to look to for advice on how to make the transition from elementary school into the real world of junior high. I wasn’t worried, though. I was an adult now, and adults can do anything. I looked up at my dad as we crossed the parking lot. “Dad? Isn’t it just so weird to you that you are going to have a kid in middle school?” I said with all the sincerity and intensity my four-foot-six being could manage. He looked down at me, his half-grin that he does when he’s trying not to smile sneaking to the left corner of his mouth, and said, “Well, yeah, Jessica, I guess it is weird. I guess that makes me old. And I guess that makes you old, too.” “Yeah. So weird,” I replied as I confidently strutted through the double doors at the front of the school, ready to conquer the world and feeling as if that was right up my alley.
Thirteen years later, as I look back at my traverse into adulthood, I have to laugh. Part of me thinks, “What were you thinking? A grown up? In sixth grade? Right!” However, part of me still agrees; being an adult means someone who is mature and who is ready to face the challenges that await. I was ready for the challenge adolescence would bring, and I felt like an adult. This led me to another thought: Am I a real adult now? Let’s see: I’m done with school, have a fabulous job, pay my own bills, I’m married, and I’m helping my husband through school so he can provide us with a wonderful life. As these facts stare me in the face, I realize something: I’m still not an adult. I’m no grown up! I have grown up moments quite frequently, and I can act the part with the most adult of my colleagues and peers, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized something: people never really grow up. We age, we move to new stages of our lives, but do we ever really arrive at the magical land of grownups? I hope not! What fun would it be if we had to be grownups all the time? Would I have to give up running on the pavement in bare feet during the summer? What about those cheap root beer popsicles with two sticks in them so you can share? Do I have to stop watching cartoons and building couch forts in my living room? If that’s the case, I don’t want to grow up!
I then started thinking about last week I went to the zoo. I made faces at the monkeys, gawked at the elephants, and tried to get the baby giraffe to look at me by offering it a long piece of grass. I recently also went to the aquarium. I squirmed and squealed as I touched a stingray and a starfish, made fishy lips at the Nemo fish, and jumped as a shark swam my way. I sometimes play hide and seek with my husband when it’s time to go to bed and I don’t want to. I think flatulence jokes are hilarious. I love playing dress-up and eating happy meals.
If life has taught me one thing as I’ve journeyed to grown-up land, it’s that I’m really just a big kid and that that’s okay. I love being a kid, and just because some people consider me an adult doesn’t mean I have to. I’m as grown up as I want to be, and I can turn into a grown up at a moment’s notice, but when it comes down to it, I’m just as happy as can be knowing that, as I’ve grown, I’ve learned to stay little. Legally, I’m an adult. Physiologically, I’m an adult. But I don’t let that stop me!
1 comment:
Great essay! I have to agree with you, no matter how old I get and what milestones I achieve, I still feel like a kid playing house.
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