I Gotta Be Me

I Gotta Be Me
by David Stoddard

I've often wondered about what it's like growing up.

Not so much all the trials and tribulations we go through just to add another candle to our cake each year, been there already. But more about becoming a grown up of sorts and figuring out when (if ever) it happens.

I've often wanted to write something about it, but always had too many possibilities to consider. Riding a bike without the training wheels? Being allowed to visit your friend's house on another street alone? Picking something from the grown-up menu for dinner? Having your first car? Getting your license? Getting your first ticket? Going on your first date? Going away to school? Getting an apartment? Getting junk mail addressed to you? Doing your own laundry? Not worrying about the basic food groups?

Later on, it could be more things like when a kid comes up to you and says "Hey, Mister." Or maybe when you have kids of your own? Become a coach of a team? Baby sit for a friend? Think to yourself how young these pro athletes seem to be? The clincher comes when the AARP sends you your first letter of interest in the mail. Guess that sorta makes you a grown up by then.

I've been through most of them (even the training wheels taken off the bike, I was 12). Despite all of that, there are many more times when I still feel like a kid much more than the adult the world at large expects. Looking back, it stems from a lot of thoughts I had growing up as well as a bit of a wish I made when I was 20.

I had always said to myself that I never wanted to grow up. Never wanted to lose that kid inside who thought running through a water sprinkler was fun and the greatest place on Earth was the toy store. (Became a bookstore as I got older). So, following the birthday tradition of wishing and blowing out all the candles ceremony, I made up that wish.

And then Tom Hanks and Penny Marshall go and make a movie out of it ("Big"), wins awards, sets Tom on his way to greatness, and here I am. Oh, sorry…Anyway...

My wish wasn't so much that I would stay 20 forever or that time would just stop, and we would end up in some time-space continuum (although I'd like to go back in time to grade school with what I know now). It was more of a hope of not becoming like a lot of the adults I had seen.

So many, even back then, seemed to have given up on so much. "Life sucks then you die," was the never-ending chant of vitality. At least they seemed enthusiastic about that. They had seemed to believe that work is so important and having any bit of a life of their own was just childish. Life is about working. Fun just happens and should not be expected. You should give your life over to the 9-5 group and obey. Ok, so it wasn't that drastic, but close.

Since then, I've fought the same feelings they had given into. I guess being "the kid" to a lot of the older folks made me still look up to them in ways. It's what you do as a kid. "They are adults, and that makes them older." (José Jiminez - comedian years back).

A few years back, I had given in to them way too often as well. A lot of that kid in me had been lost or misplaced or had been hiding behind a video game someplace. Little did I know he had been sitting in a dark corner of the basement behind a bookshelf at home waiting for me to find him.

Today, the kid inside is fighting his way back. He doesn't believe a lot of what he was taught growing up. Times have changed. Life is so much different today. He doesn't feel the need "suffer" if he doesn't want to. He knows that there are things that have to be done for his own survival, but he doesn't want to fade away either by turning into something he's not.

If nothing else, my own kid inside has taught that there are two parts to all of us.

The kid: Should be allowed to lead the way, to do what is fun and enjoyable, to wonder about everything, and search out new adventures and make the most of it.

The adult: Should keep the kid out of too much trouble, and just go along for the ride.

It's when you can do that, is when you shall be a grown-up, my son.

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(c) David Stoddard
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