What does it mean to be a grown-up?

I am not really sure what it means to be a grown-up.  I thought it meant being 18, but then I was eighteen and looking back I realize that I was barely more than an out of control adolescent who was legally allowed to buy cigarettes and porn. 

Then I thought it meant being 21, because I could imbibe without repercussion.  That was the birthday I received my trust fund of six thousand dollars.  I proved, wholeheartedly, that I was not adult enough to handle that responsibility as I spent it without recourse on a computer, cigarettes and booze.  Luckily, my younger siblings and cousins have learned from the trailblazers’ mistakes and chosen to keep those trust funds invested, which is certainly what my fellow first-borns and I should have done. 

It seems that 21 was not the age that heralded in my adulthood.  Next I assumed that my graduation from a fine liberal arts college with a degree in ancient philosophical texts would signify that I was ready to pass through the gates from my youthful past to my adult future.  I got that big job everyone hopes for in a highly lucrative field.  I was sure I was ready and prepared.  Little did I know that I would hate that career path and wind up aimlessly ambling on into the future.  However much responsibility was thrust upon me in those months, I still felt like a scared little child praying that I would not fall into the abyss of failure.

I met my husband right after I graduated.  I was sure that our marriage would vault us into the realm of the full-fledged grown-up.  I walked down the aisle, we said our vows and I wore a breathtaking gown.  I felt like a little girl playing dress-up.  I greeted guests, dance and ate three bites of Fourth of July fare.  I was playing a part, acting to a role that had been provided for me: gracious bride and hostess.  As a married woman, I was sure to feel that I was no longer a little girl.  I did not have that feeling. 

I lost that first big job.  That day was the worst ego blow I had suffered in my life.  That soon passed and I became aware that it had been a blessing in disguise as I had hated my chosen career path.  I had gone from studying positive moral values to representing industries that appeared to be the antithesis of all that I had come to believe.  Receiving checks from the Illinois Department of Employment Security certainly had the air of something which only a mature individual would be involved.

Our next adventure was to move to a new city and try that out for a while.  We struggled and had to ask our parents for help, which did not help with the whole feeling “grown-up” thing.  I have this feeling that knowing what you want to be when you grow up might never happen. 

Well, we bought a house.  Doing a house closing doesn’t seem like a child could do it, so it must mean that we were being heralded in to the life of maturity.  However, when the time came, we decided to make one of the bedrooms into an adult play room: dart board, booze and the likes.  I guess we cannot escape our continuing passion for fun and lack of desire to grow up.  I suppose we are experiencing something natural to our generation and demographic.

So long as we continue to coddle young people until they are into their twenties, how do we expect these young people to understand that they are really on their own?  It is up to us to make it, but we do all of our maturing and growth underneath the umbrella of help and support from those who created us: our parents and educators. 

Parents, please thrust your children into the land of responsibility.  Make them get jobs.  Make them work for what they want.  Otherwise, they will not have any idea what being an adult is about. 

Educators, please teach children about balancing budgets and time.  Teach them what they need to know in a world that doesn’t accept “my dog at me bill” as a valid reason for a late payment.

Without the help of those raising our nation’s children, we will not have anyone worth working with in our future.