My Birthday
Friday was my birthday! I'm 25 now. Wow, 25. I remember being a little girl, maybe 9 or 10 and thinking about what it was going to be like when I was 25. What I was going to be like. I always said that I wanted to have kids before I was 25. That was back before I knew about things like health insurance and how much formula costs. I thought that being 25 meant being an adult. But now I'm here. And I don't feel like an adult.
What it means to be a grown up is so much more clear from the perspective of being 6 years old. A grown-up is a person who can give permission for you to do things. A grown-up is a person who has a wallet and mysterious pieces of paper called "checks" that are not money, but can be used instead of money. I grown-up knows where the band-aids are and the bactine. There is no age specifically that makes someone a grown-up, in fact age is a pretty elusive quality to a six year old, but there is never any question about who is and who is not a grown up.
The first time I knew I was a grown-up was one day at a laundomat. Two young children were struggling with a load of laundry. I could tell from the way they carried themselves and the way they spoke to each other that they thought they were pretty grown-up that day. Doing laundry by yourself is a very grown-up thing as I remember it. I watched them out of the corner of my eye. I didn't want them to feel supervised, but I do live in the city so I felt it was only right to keep an eye out for them. When my clothes were ready to be put in the dryer, I turned my back on them to throw the load in my basket. About half of the clothes were out when I heard a little voice behind me say, "Excuse me, ma'am?"
I turned around out of reflex. I was the only other one there, so I knew that the voice was directed at me. A pair of little boy brown eyes looked up at me. "Do you know where to put the quarters?"
"Yes, right there," I answered, pointing to the slot on the top right hand corner of the dryer. "Can you reach?"
The little boy nodded enthusiastically and spun around. "Thank you!" he shouted over his shoulder.
"You're welcome," I said in a voice that resembled my mother's more than I would have liked. I turned back to my wet clothes and that's when it hit me. Ma'am? Did he call me "ma'am"? And just like that, I had become a grown-up. I was no longer one who needed to be looked after, I was the one looking out. I was one doing laundry by herself. I was one with a wallet and money and a checkbook. I was one who could be trusted to know which slot to put a quarter into to make the dryer go. I had, quietly and without fanfare, turned into an adult. At least according to a six year old, and that is the most expert opinion I can think of.
What it means to be a grown up is so much more clear from the perspective of being 6 years old. A grown-up is a person who can give permission for you to do things. A grown-up is a person who has a wallet and mysterious pieces of paper called "checks" that are not money, but can be used instead of money. I grown-up knows where the band-aids are and the bactine. There is no age specifically that makes someone a grown-up, in fact age is a pretty elusive quality to a six year old, but there is never any question about who is and who is not a grown up.
The first time I knew I was a grown-up was one day at a laundomat. Two young children were struggling with a load of laundry. I could tell from the way they carried themselves and the way they spoke to each other that they thought they were pretty grown-up that day. Doing laundry by yourself is a very grown-up thing as I remember it. I watched them out of the corner of my eye. I didn't want them to feel supervised, but I do live in the city so I felt it was only right to keep an eye out for them. When my clothes were ready to be put in the dryer, I turned my back on them to throw the load in my basket. About half of the clothes were out when I heard a little voice behind me say, "Excuse me, ma'am?"
I turned around out of reflex. I was the only other one there, so I knew that the voice was directed at me. A pair of little boy brown eyes looked up at me. "Do you know where to put the quarters?"
"Yes, right there," I answered, pointing to the slot on the top right hand corner of the dryer. "Can you reach?"
The little boy nodded enthusiastically and spun around. "Thank you!" he shouted over his shoulder.
"You're welcome," I said in a voice that resembled my mother's more than I would have liked. I turned back to my wet clothes and that's when it hit me. Ma'am? Did he call me "ma'am"? And just like that, I had become a grown-up. I was no longer one who needed to be looked after, I was the one looking out. I was one doing laundry by herself. I was one with a wallet and money and a checkbook. I was one who could be trusted to know which slot to put a quarter into to make the dryer go. I had, quietly and without fanfare, turned into an adult. At least according to a six year old, and that is the most expert opinion I can think of.
posted by Leah @ 6:46 PM
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