When I’m out of high school I’ll start to feel like a grown up.
When I return from my mission I’ll start acting more grown up.
Or maybe when I finally walk across the stage to receive my college diploma I’ll feel like I’ve matured into a grown up.
Or when I get married. Or buy a home. Or find a job with a dress code that’s more stringent than shorts and flip flops.
Each step along the way I’ve felt both an internal and external push to grow up. As if acting grown up was a prerequisite to enter that next stage of life.
Maybe someone was keeping track. Two points for wearing a sport coat with tie. Minus three for watching Beavis and Butthead at 2 am while eating a Chalupa and chugging Mountain Dew.
And then a strange thing happened: I became a father.
All that grown up stuff I’d been practicing for years? Out the window. Down the toilet. Gonzo.
Kids relish the goofiest of times. The times I stuff pillows down my shirt and pants and walk around the house as “Big Butt Bertha”. Or the times we see who can belch the most letters of the alphabet. The times we’re in the car waiting for mom and we play a game called “Which is the GROSSEST?”
Yet I still feel this pressure to act like a grown up. But I’m not sure what that means anymore. So until then I’ll be myself.
Besides, who else is going to download 16 different fart sounds onto his iPhone when church is only 5 days away?