I always wondered when I would become an adult. Most kids do, I think. I'm not sure what exactly we think "becoming an adult" means, but we know it's bound to happen some time.
At first, I assumed that it would happen on a birthday. I'd wake up, 18 years old, and be an adult. When that didn't happen, I nudged it up to 21. No dice there, either.
So I pinned my hopes--so many hopes--on motherhood. And while the birth of my children changed me in ways I can't begin to enumerate, it only served--then as now--to make me feel even less capable, less grown up. I may act the part, but inside? I knew it was a sham.
And so I gave it up, that hope of adulthood.
Today, my mother called to ask me a cooking question. My mother. Called me. Asked ME.
Today, just shy of my 46th birthday, I am an adult.
It's everything I dreamed it would be.
6 comments:
Unreal... I became an adult when I was 52
Now I have reverted back... I am no longer an adult at 71!
LOL.
Awesome. :-) Now that I'm an adult, there are far too many days I'd like to be a care-free child again. Damn that green grass...
It's funny that you mention this b/c I think about it all the time. I look at the moms at my kids' schools - younger or older than me, it doesn't matter - and think "I'm SO immature compared to them."
I have a friend who said she didn't feel like an adult until one of her parents died. I haven't had that experience, so I don't know if it's true or not.
In truth, it makes me a little sad to ponder ...
Love this.
BTW, latkes are haunting me. Pretty soon I won't be able to NOT make them.
Make them, make them! You know you want to. (The ones I made last night were probably my best batch EVER. Topped with homemade applesauce? Unbelievable.)
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