COLUMN: I won’t grow up; you can make me
I used to think I was a grown-up – facial hair, a checkbook, flannel shirts, taxes, higher education, drooling on a less frequent basis and the like.
I’m not.
The worst thing is, I think – no, I know – I’m not even close.
You see, the other day I caught myself curled in the fetal position, thumb firmly planted in mouth, using the miracle of previous channel to switch between the “Teletubbies” and “Bob the Builder.” My puppy dog slippers were the only grown-up thing about the whole scene.
What? Puppy dog slippers aren’t that grown-up? Damn, it’s worse than I thought.
But I guess I should have seen this coming. I have lacked the impulse control commonly associated with being a grown-up for sometime now. Kids are famous for doing whatever they feel like – peeing in a gutter, frequently breaking things, throwing tantrums, saying whatever they want – but adults restrain the urges to act in this manner.
I do not.
Although I haven’t peed in the gutter for a few weeks – actually, that had nothing to do with a childish impulse, but that’s another story – other symptoms crop up on a daily basis.
Due to an unbelievably strong urge to break fragile things, I can no longer go down the aisle in Wal-Mart where they keep the plates and glasses. I just feel like sticking my arms out and running down the aisle, knocking everything off the shelves.
Also, I’ve found as an adult I throw tantrums on a more frequent basis, and they are no small matter anymore. Now I throw bigger tantrums, which have the capacity to destroy entire city blocks if I really get worked up about something like a Denver Broncos’ loss, the price of peanut butter or not getting my box of S’mores cereal.
I also can’t help but notice that it is no longer cute for me to say inappropriate things. Surprisingly, it is just plain inappropriate.
This is a big deal for me. You must understand something; I haven’t developed the filter in my head that screens out inappropriate comments, so, like a 3-year-old, I still say whatever crops up in my head.
If you’ve been offended by any of the innumerable amount of things I may have said in your presence over the years, I sincerely apologize. I just can’t control the impulse to say exactly what is on my mind, no matter the situation. And maybe the problem isn’t even the content. My inability to control my own volume level allows more people than necessary to hear the horrible things I say.
As if that weren’t enough, there’s more.
Instead of paying attention in class, I have to fight the urge to make a crown out of notebook paper, jump up on my desk, and proclaim myself the king of whatever building I’m in. Or, I often get the urge to challenge my professor to a duel for the affection of the class.
If I’m talking to someone face to face, I get the urge to steal their nose and run away from them screaming about how I’m the Robin Hood of nose stealing. This is a true statement, because when it comes to noses, I rob from the rich and give to the poor, noseless people of the world.
I bet my parents are reading this and crying by now, wondering where they went wrong. Mom and Dad, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just the older I get, the harder it is for me to act like a grown-up.
So you can find me on my couch after classes, thumb firmly planted in mouth, watching cartoons and wearing my puppy dog slippers. I can’t fight this feeling anymore.
David Baker will lay down on the floor in
the middle of Smith’s and scream and
cry until you sent comments to
him at dabake@cc.usu.edu.