18 and Life
By Christopher J. Sims
© C. Sims and Ironminds webzine
I’m turning 18 and I’m terrified. It’s a major step for me. My entire life, I’ve resisted growing up to the best of my ability. But when my birthday rolls around this year, there’s no way for me to avoid it. I’m finally going to be an adult. That fact alone worries me. I wake up in
the middle of the night from under my Scooby Doo bed sheets, sweating from a bout of nightmares in which I do my taxes and drive a minivan. It’s enough to drive a guy mad. But even worse than that is the notion that I’ll be an adult in the eyes of the law, with all the rights and privileges thereof. This year I’ll be able to partake in democracy and vote, helping to determine the future of the nation.
How did you people let this happen? Haven’t you been paying attention? I’m immature. I’m irresponsible. Most of my friends got cars or money for college for graduation. Me? I got a trip to Universal Studios Florida and had my picture taken with Spider-Man, along with a bunch of
other people who were half my height. It’s almost August, and I haven’t even turned in my application to college for the fall. I still play with
action figures. I watch Saturday-morning cartoons at work. And you’re putting the fate of the free world into my hands. It’s so much pressure I feel like I’m going to snap and end up celebrating my birthday with a rifle at the top of a bell tower.
Granted, I’m not the worst choice for the future of America. Not only can I spell “graduate,” but I actually am one, which is more than I can say for a lot of people my age. It’s just that some really good PlayStation games are going to come out soon, and I can’t be bothered with this whole
growing-up thing.
But alas, the hands of time wait for no man, and pretty soon I’ll be dragged kicking and screaming into the world of adulthood. And what’s my
consolation? I get to buy porn. Oh, thanks a lot for that one. Yeah, it would’ve been a much bigger help back when I started puberty. Real funny,
guys. Classic.
And look at the world they’re giving me to run. No wonder I’m so neurotic about all the responsibility. I have an article I clipped out of the
newspaper above my computer that details the story of a woman being sentenced for her part in making “crush videos,” which, for those of you
who don’t know, are pornographic movies featuring women crushing small animals to death with their feet. She handed them over to the police
while they were investigating the death of her husband, who was crushed under the rear wheels of his own truck.
Outstanding use of irony aside, is this the kind of thing that happens in the world adults rule? And apparently, they do it so much that a story this
bizarre gets three paragraphs on page two. Now, even though I like to consider myself a liberal, I’d rather not have to deal with that, thank you very much.
I tried to find a way to deal with all my anxiety. I did what I always do when I feel troubled: I went to my mom (remember, I’m only 18). I told her I was having a hard time dealing with becoming an adult, and I asked her what she felt like when she turned 18.
“I was a little scared,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I was ready for all the responsibility, for being a grown-up. And I was worried about getting
busted. The day before my 18th birthday, my friend and I got caught trying to shoplift about 20 bucks worth from J.C. Penny. It just seemed like
something the Beatles would do.”
It takes a lot to faze me, but that did the trick. My law-abiding, schoolteacher mother had shoplifted the day before her official transition
into adulthood because she thought it would be funny. But then she said something that made it all make sense.
“If it would’ve happened a day later, I would’ve been in the police blotter, but I was still a minor. Not that it matters. I was no more an adult the next day then when I was 25.”
She’d confirmed it. There was hope for me after all. The majority of my Generation X and Y brothers-and-sisters-in-flannel seem to have made
the transition into legal adulthood with their immaturity intact, and it proves that while I may have to grow old, I don’t have to grow up.
So maybe it’s our time to rule the world, fighting back the insanity with trademark slacker apathy and a rigorous schedule of cartoons. I may
not like all the responsibility, but when I turn 18 I’m going to have it whether I want it or not, so the best I can hope for is that I keep on doing what I know. So this November, turn on your TV and watch the election returns. Watch for a small percentage of the vote going to Bob Denver or TV’s Gilligan. It may not be much, but it’ll do: a tiny spark of defiance from a kid too stubborn to grow up.
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