The Sunroom

It’s time to grow up.

There is a memory, at thirteen, which puzzles me, but still causes me to giggle. Every Christmas Break my family would take a long road trip to Southern California to visit family. I must have hit peek obnoxiousness and publically displayed it while we stopped for a meal, because as we loaded back into the truck my dad snapped at, “Why are acting like a child?” I’m certain the elicited response from me and my older, which were incredulous looks and then to break out into laughter, as I said, “I’m thirteen. I am a child,” did not help the situation. But the memory goes black. I’m sure he rolled his eyes and left us to our own.

Now, as an actual adult (a very adult adult), and having a better understanding that my father likely has autism, sheds light on a whooooole lot of things. Including myself.

I’m perpetually child-like – to this day, I love cartoons, coloring, toys, middle school humor.

I spent college feeling like I was perpetually sixteen and that everyone around me was older and wiser. And I do mean, I thought everyone was actually older than me. I was always surprised when I would find a fellow student who I had taken to be senior to me, was actually a freshman. There was only one time this could have taken a bad turn, because I was also an awful flirt. At our local (rural) fair I once met the cutest boy – I was 18 and we were going to grab dinner one night, until I started talking to his nice enough, but less cute brother, who it turns out was also 18. He nicely mentioned how he and his younger brother… and I’ll stop there because I did stop there. Did not matter how cute that guy was, since he was 16 I was no longer so interested.

When did I grow up? I remember the exact moment. It was quite freeing, although I have no idea why my adult timer suddenly went off.

My thirtieth birthday, my besties and I dressed as pirates and had a raucous party – at the time, my daughter had recently turned four and I was a year or two into what would become my career for over two decades. I woke the morning after and suddenly the world looked different. I WAS the adult in the room. Although, never shy, and always one to share my opinion, I realized as an adult, that the other adults in the room would hear my opinions differently and, therefore, respond to me differently. As an equal. It was freeing to hold so much power.

I doubt my tastes that run toward fantastical and cartoonish will ever change, but I am grateful every day that I never need to be a child again. I’m sure Peter Pan would be disappointed, but Wendy understands.