Amy and I have often discussed the fact that neither of us truly feels “grown up” — whatever that means. Yesterday, when I took Ray to the playground to meet other kids from his school (and their parents), for example, I felt much more at ease with the other 3- and 4-year-olds than I did their mamas and dadas. The other parents seemed like parents to me in ways that I don’t seem like one myself. I pitched whiffle balls to Ray and another little boy while the other grown-ups watched from the sidelines, and I preferred that.
I’m not sure what it is I feel I should seem like. I don’t feel unqualified in anything I do. I don’t feel undeserving. I certainly don’t lack for responsibility. I have a wonderful child and a beautiful partner, have owned two homes, earn a good salary, supervise eight staff, manage a multi-million dollar budget, have lived in four cities, have traveled to six foreign countries, have been married and divorced, and have graying hair on my temples. What could be more grown-up than that?
I tell myself that it’s good to feel this way … that I have not lost touch with my inner kid. Yet every time I write the mortgage check or think about Ray’s impending school days, there’s a part of it that seems like it’s happening to someone else — or that I’m doing all of it for someone else … just filling in until the big person gets back.
Objectively, I look at all I’ve done and all I have going for me and I realize how silly I am being. I know that I’m trying to measure up to some standard or template that either doesn’t really exist or is undesirable. Yet, the script for the role of Adult Man outlines the character traits pretty clearly and I frequently feel as if I’m not right for the part — that the critics will be merciless.
Tom Waits’ song “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up” provided the title of this post; here’s the video from YouTube.
I don’t wanna grow up
Comb their hair and shine their shoes
I don’t wanna grow up
Stay around in my old hometown
I don’t wanna put no money down
I don’t wanna get me a big old loan
Work them fingers to the bone
I don’t wanna float a broom
Fall in love and get married then boom
How the hell did I get here so soon
I don’t wanna grow up
Comments
So, I was about to mock you for writing a mortgage payment check, when I recalled you issues with WaMu.
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Not related to this comment, please email directly. Thank you,
Peter
(Liana's husband)
Posted by: Peter Werner | August 27, 2006 2:16 PM